I'll Use You as a Focal Point
by deinvati
Summary: Sequel to "Bite the Hand that Feeds" Bane is John's partner for their high school project, and Bane has an agenda. Of course he does. Bane/Blake, underage, Bane is 18, John is 16, frottage, foster care system reform.
1. Chapter 1

The path to Bruce and Selina's lunch table is a familiar one, but John feels off-kilter as he walks it now. It's like he can feel Bane on the other end of the lunchroom, a magnetic pull that leaves him feeling unsettled. They didn't specifically talk about it, but John hopes they're keeping it quiet, this thing between them. Not so much because they'd get endless shit about it, which they would, but because right now it's small, and fragile, and only theirs. Call him selfish, but John wants that for as long as possible. Sharing it just feels wrong.

He can't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder though when he sits down. Just a quick peek at the table in the corner, which has another table pulled up alongside it now for the overflow of sheep that seem to follow Bane around.

Bane has his back to John today, but Barsad notices, of course. John expects Barsad's openly hostile gaze but pauses when he doesn't get it. Barsad doesn't look especially _pleased_ per se, but he gets Bane's attention and gestures in John's direction with his chin. Bane turns, but so do two other people and John can feel his entire face flame. He spins back around to stare at his tray, trying to play it cool. Which is when he notices Bruce and Selina are staring at him.

"What?" he says, taking a big bite.

They both give him identical raised eyebrows and John would laugh if he didn't have a mouthful of food.

"Secrets don't make friends, Johnny boy," Selina purrs at him.

"Yeah?" he says, swallowing. "Then what's your excuse?"

She blinks at him for a moment, but Bruce can't stifle the snort that comes bursting out of him.

"Ahem," Bruce says, quieting under Selina's glare. "Okay, but seriously, what was that all about? And you never told us what happened after you guys left together."

John can't tell him the truth— that he'd almost rubbed off against Bane and gotten caught by the principal. It's embarrassing, sure, but mostly? He doesn't want to share. In this whole fucked up life, in his whole 16 years of existence, he's never had something that was just his, that hasn't gotten ripped away. He wants to kick his heels into the ground and scream, "NO! MINE!" and pull Bane closer, away from their clutching fingers.

"Uh, we… got sent home by Principal Gordon," he stumbles, staring at his fork. "For fighting."

There's silence in front of him and he looks up to see both of them staring.

"Jesus," Bruce breathes, his eyes quickly running over John's body. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"Hey!" John says, annoyed. "Maybe I hurt him, ever think of that? I'm… scrappy."

The couple gives him identical unamused looks as Selina says, "No."

John glares. "Fine," he says, dropping his fork. "It… wasn't really much of a fight."

He can't really lie to either of them, but they will have to drag the truth out of him with rusty pliers— that he'd loved every second of it and wanted it to happen again. "We were discussing our Humanities project and things got kind of—" John pauses, trying not to blush, "heated."

"Wait, what Humanities project?" Selina asks, and John jumps on the change of subject.

"Oh, man, I didn't tell you? I got paired up with Bane for this project- it's supposed to take the rest of the year."

He explains the project to Selina, who looks interested. Very interested, actually.

"Are there any limits on what you can do?" she says, overly casual.

"Why?" he asks.

She shrugs her shoulders. "No reason, just curious."

John cocks his head at her, but the bell rings and there's a rush of movement as people prepare to leave the cafeteria.

"See you guys," John waves, and hurries to the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bane.

Except when John emerges, Bane's standing in the hallway leaning against the wall with Barsad at his side. Barsad appears to be scanning everyone but as soon as John comes over, he melts into the flow of traffic and disappears.

"H-hey," John says, cautiously.

Bane says nothing, just moves to walk with John down the hall. John looks up at him, but Bane just continues with John all the way to his locker, stands beside it, and then abruptly says, "I must attend History," and walks away.

So. Yeah. They should probably talk about this, John guesses. He fights down the smile that threatens and heads to his next class.

In Humanities, he fidgets through the lesson until the end of the day, which is usually reserved for working with their partners. Bane's boot is solid on the rung of his chair, and it feels familiar and almost possessive, and John doesn't want to admit it even to himself, but he kind of likes it.

"Robin," Bane rumbles when John finally gets to scoot his desk back and John pauses, half out of his chair.

"Yeah?"

But Bane just looks at him, quiet and unmoving. John sits.

"Um. Do you want to work on the project?"

Bane doesn't answer for a moment, then gives a curt nod, and they start combining materials for their essay. They actually work, which is sort of annoying, because John can still taste Bane's fingerprints. He remembers each ridge, the way they fit on his lips and scraped on his teeth, the hitch of Bane's breath as he flicked the digits with his tongue.

He looks at Bane out of the corner of his eye, and Bane is looking right back at him.

He smiles and sees Bane's coveted crinkles next to his eyes, and it's strangely okay after that.

He has stuff to do at home, naturally, and he's not planning on going to St Swithins tonight so that he can get it done, so he's not sure if Bane will walk home with him or not. He wants him to. But now he also knows what Bane has waiting for him, how far he has to walk to get there, and all the reasons he shouldn't feel sorry for himself when Bane leans against his locker and says, "I cannot go with you, little bird."

"Oh, okay, no problem," he says quickly. "I wasn't going to— I mean I just needed to go home tonight, I'm not even on my way to— I know it's a long way out of your way, and with Talia and everything—" He shifts his weight, then his backpack, as he tries three times to unlock his locker. Then a thread of panic winds through his gut as he thinks about Bane's words. He means walking, right? He can't go to St Swithins, right? He doesn't mean he can't… _go_ with John. Right?

Bane looks at him curiously. "Talia has an appointment I must attend."

"Oh, right, yeah," John stutters, trying not to sag with relief. "Of course."

Bane leans toward him, cutting off the unnecessary flow of words. John swallows. "I would like to see you."

John nods, too fast, then forces himself to stop. "We should probably talk about this," he offers.

Bane grunts and John isn't sure if he'd heard him because Bane is staring at his mouth. John's tongue darts out to wet his lips without thinking, and Bane's pupils dilate. John feels a little thrill of power and he grins. He darts his tongue out once more, then bites his bottom lip, at which point Bane glances up and meets John's gaze. His eyes crinkle when he sees the teasing in John's look.

"I assume you don't want to do this at school," John says, cutting to the chase. "I don't really mind, but I figure that's not what you want."

He says it quietly, so Bane can decide what he wants. "I cannot, at this time," he finally grits out, and John nods so he'll know it's okay. Because it is. He doesn't want to share, not now, maybe not for a while.

"I understand," he says, and busies himself taking the things he'll need out of his locker and shutting it again. "So," he stalls, not wanting to leave for home, "what _do_ you want to do?"

Bane's hand reaches for John's jaw, a wide swipe over his skin with his thumb pressed against John's lips. Bane doesn't answer, just takes the final step toward John, the hiss of his mask almost tangible this close together.

"Brother."

The word is spoken in warning, and Bane drops his hand and steps back as if he'd known it was coming. John, however, flounders forward, off balance without Bane's weight to counter him.

John turns, because he hadn't realized Barsad was even there, but of course he is, down the hallway leaning nonchalantly against the lockers. He isn't looking at them, just staring at his nails. John feels a flare of annoyance of the "don't like it? don't look" variety, but seconds later, Bruce rounds the end of the hall and locks eyes with John.

"Blake," he says, pulling even with them. "Bane," he adds, greeting him with reluctance. "I, uh, hear you and John are doing a project together."

Bane arches an eyebrow at him and crosses his considerable arms. "Indeed." It isn't the friendliest thing he could have said, but John's eyes glance off the dent in the locker next to his, the one that is Bane-fist sized, and decides it could be worse.

"Well. Good luck, I guess. Blake, you want a ride home?"

"Uh…" John freezes, bracing for the tension, but Bane is a placid lake and Bruce is oblivious. John glances from Bruce to Bane, his eyes grazing over the dented locker again. "I… actually don't need one. Today. But thanks," he says to Bruce, who shrugs.

"Okay. Just thought I'd offer. See ya, right?"

"Yeah, right."

"Bane," Bruce says in farewell.

Bane nods at Bruce, but if he's scowling a bit Bruce doesn't notice as he exits out the side entrance. When the door clangs shut behind him, Bane turns to John once again, uncrossing his arms. His face is relaxed and he's looking at John again, like he's a baby bunny or something.

"What?"

"That was good," he rumbles, stepping closer again.

John's forehead furrows. "What do you mean?"

It's Bane's turn to look confused. "He is hazardous. As we discussed."

John stiffens and Bane draws back with a sigh.

"What." John says, low and dangerous, to which Bane rolls his eyes. John forges ahead though, his mouth going faster as he gets going. "We didn't talk about this. We didn't come anywhere _close_ to talking about this. You threw a punch that could have seriously injured me, then stomped off like a child when you didn't get your way. Are you out of your mind? 'As we discussed.' Jesus. I don't have to do what you say, you know."

Bane is glaring at him now. "Yes," is all he says.

John blinks. "Well. Good. Because I don't."

He frowns again and readjusts his backpack on his shoulder. "Look, I've got to go. But we should actually talk about this. And," he gestures vaguely between them, "this." He frowns some more because boy does he know how to kill a moment.

Bane crosses his arms again. "Yes."

"Right. Good." John says, but feels like he's the one getting in trouble instead of the other way around. "Tomorrow then? After school? I could maybe go to your house, if you want..." He trails off, feeling dumb, and fuck, how does Bane always do this to him? He frowns again for good measure.

Bane just stares. "Yes."

John can't help it. His lips twitch. "Good."

He takes a few steps back, disengaging Bane's magnetic pull. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He's feeling a lot better as he walks home, the cold wind hitting him in the face.

He is looking forward to going to Bane's house again. He won't deny it. But the next day in the lunchroom, as he turns with his tray, Bane is watching him. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and doesn't try to gesture to John, just watches as he takes his food and slides it onto his usual table across from Selina. He feels… like he's letting Bane down. But these are his friends. And they are good friends. They're the only ones who've put up with him, and still made room for him even after they got together. He pushes his food around.

"Hey, Johnny boy," Selina says. "We are going to watch a movie at Bruce's tonight, want to join us?"

John snorted. "Are you guys actually going to be watching the movie or will it be third-wheel-Wednesday?"

Selina shrugged, unperturbed. "We can go out if you'd rather. I don't care. I'm just combatting the boredom. So. You up for it?"

"Uh," John glances at Bruce who is watching him thoughtfully. "I actually... can't tonight. How about tomorrow?" he deflects.

Bruce's eyes tighten, but he doesn't say anything, just takes another bite.

Selina shrugs again. "I might not be bored tomorrow, but sure, we can plan for it."

"Maybe John just wants a guy's night," Bruce says, too casual, and John felt his face heat against his wishes.

"What's wrong with me?" Selina fake-pouted. "Are you saying I'm man enough for you?" she purred, leaning forward to accentuate her cleavage and smirking at John.

John waggles his eyebrows at her. "Sweetheart, you have no _idea_ how much man I require."

Selina laughs, and even Bruce's lips curl, so John goes back to his food, trying to ignore Bruce's all-seeing gaze. Hopefully, they'd forget about the invite and he can just go back to thinking about Bane's house. With no adults. And a bedroom. With a bed. And a door. And a lock.

His face is heating again, and he pushes the thoughts aside before they get him in trouble. But he can't help but check over his shoulder when there is a lull in Selina's attempt to get Bruce to watch the Wonder Woman movie again.

Bane is looking at him this time, his placid lake face staring at John. John tries a smile, then blushes like the dumbass he is and turns back around. Just because he is sitting here daydreaming about Bane's ability to lock doors doesn't mean that's what Bane is thinking about.

He's thinking about Bruce and Selina. John knows it and hates it, but he doesn't know what to do about it. Every day he walks past Bane's table and sits at theirs is a day he tells Bane, "I choose them over you." And he can't do anything else. If he starts sitting at Bane's table, Bruce and Selina will stage an intervention. They'll probably think he's been brainwashed.

He pushes his food around on his plate some more and shoves down as much of it as he can stomach because food is food and you don't just not eat it if you have it. Sister Beth Anne would be appalled if nothing else.

When Humanities finally rolls around, John is so keyed up Bane probably thinks there's something wrong with him. But he is going to Bane's tonight. The girls and Sam are watching the littles for him; he'd even told Sharon he would be at a friend's house and she'd appeared to have heard him. He has a window of freedom so wide he feels nauseous with the possibilities.

He goes out sometimes, of course; he has a _life_ for god's sake. He and Bruce used to go out all the time, to Bruce's golf club and concerts John drug him to, and now that Selina made them a trio (or at least made Bruce part of a couple), they hang out at cafes and bowling alleys, where they do a fairly okay job of not making John feel like he's intruding.

This is different. This is _Bane_ and this is basically a date, and John has emptied the water heater every morning in the shower ever since Bane had shoved him up against the wall. It is heady stuff, and he doesn't think he learns a single damn thing Ms. Bishop is attempting to teach them about Postmodernism as he imagines a thousand X-rated scenarios, none of which will probably ever happen, but _what if_.

When John slides his desk back to Bane, he thinks his hands might be shaking except he shoves them under his thighs so he doesn't have to find out. He's tense and nervous, even though he knows Bane probably thinks he's an idiot, and he tries to focus on Bane's rumble. Then he realizes Bane is trying to talk John into including Rage Against the Machine in their final essay, after they'd decided yesterday to exclude them, and John's stupid mouth is going off half-cocked. And when Bane finally relents, again, and agrees to leave them out, he realizes he feels better.

"Hey," John says, his voice low, "thanks."

Bane shakes his head slightly, his eyebrows drawn together. "You say the strangest things, little bird."

John just smiles and bends over his paper again and they go back to discussing the order for each section of the essay until the final bell rings. John and Bane are usually the last ones, hanging back to catch a few more seconds together until their responsibilities drag them away, but today they beat the teacher out the door.

John exchanges books out of his locker and grabs his jacket, then they head to Bane's to get his. Barsad meets them there and falls into step beside them, and John isn't sure why he didn't think Barsad would be there for the walk home, but of course he would be. He should probably try to include Barsad though, just because he knows what it feels like to be the third wheel.

He clears his throat. "So, Barsad," he says, then stalls. He realizes he has absolutely nothing to talk to Barsad about. "How's... school?"

Barsad looks him over from head to toe like he's determining whether to answer such an inane question or not, then gives John a half-shrug. "It is informative."

"It's... informative, right." John has no idea what he thought Barsad would say, but that's definitely not it. "Well, you're probably the first person to think what they teach in school is actually informative." He gave him a smile.

Barsad scoffs. "That's because what they teach in school is not actually informative."

Bane chuckles beside him and John realizes _he_ might be the third wheel here.

"You know, if you guys are planning a hostile takeover, I should probably try to stop you."

Bane laughs at that, a rich, rolling sound that warms John to his toes despite the chill. "You may try, little one."

Even Barsad is smiling at John's glare. "Well, I should at least know about it! I could get... backup."

Bane's eyes crinkle at him and he walks with his hands gripping the collar of his coat. Barsad trails slightly behind them, walking through the grass without making a sound, and Bane is only a breath away.

When they reach Bane's house, they all three walk past it and John hangs back by the fence while the two brothers ring the bell. The same yips he remembered from the last time ring out, the same trundle of feet before the door is flung open.

"Yay, you're here!" comes the small cry before the bundle of curls hits Bane around the knees. He picks up Talia and thanks Mrs. Baldwin before they turn to head home. Barsad smiles warmly at Talia, but she only has eyes for Bane, bursting with talk about her day. Apparently, they'd made several different batches of "slime," and Mrs. Baldwin had let her mix them together.

"We's workin on colors," she says wisely.

"I see," Bane agrees as Barsad unlocks the door, and John laughs at himself and his porn fantasies. There's a preschooler that lives here and granted, there's just one, but god, he is an idiot.

Barsad says, in English, that he's going to make dinner, and Bane nods, but Talia doesn't acknowledge anyone but Bane. Bane doesn't seem to mind. She talks about her day, she gets her toys out, she insists Bane play with her. After a while, John asks if he can play too.

She glances at him suspiciously. "You can be the Barbie," she says, and John knows a test when he sees it.

"Okay," he says happily and accepts the doll he's handed.

They play until Barsad calls them to eat, and John is impressed by their tiny efficient family machine. It seems quiet here, and fun, and playful, and he's a tiny bit jealous. Talia flops herself on the couch, insisting that she's "bored" and that she needs to watch TV, and Bane suggests a movie. Talia picks one out, and they all settle on the couch, Talia wedging herself firmly in between them.

John isn't annoyed, not really, because she's a kid, and he's a stranger, and she's half in love with Bane. Plus, watching Bane with her, watching the way he absentmindedly strokes her curls in the fading light, John can't really say he blames her.

That doesn't mean he's not supremely grateful when Barsad comes in with a pillow, blanket, and bucket of popcorn, and sets up Talia on the floor in front of the movie. Then Barsad hits the lights and settles into the armchair, and then it's just Bane and John on the couch.

John tries to be nonchalant as he leans into the wall of muscle at his side, his heart hammering away in his chest. Bane doesn't look at him, his eyes trained on the screen, so John stays there, not seeing a single scene even though he's focused on the TV. But then, about halfway through the movie, Bane stretches— actually _stretches_ , and drops his arm over John's shoulders.

John bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He sinks into the cocoon of Bane's warmth because he's changed his expectations of tonight, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been thinking about touching Bane all damn day.

Bane is solid and stiff, and John can smell his deodorant. He would really like Bane to smother him into the couch, but he settles for resting his hand, just super casually, on Bane's thigh. Well, it's right above his knee, really. So not, like in his crotch or anything; Bane's got acres of thighs he could he touching. He's not going to do that in front of everyone, though, and the way Bane stiffens even more says maybe he's pushing it a bit far.

He should take his hand back, but then what if Bane thinks he's moving it because he doesn't like it? Because he absolutely does. He is so wound up that when Barsad says a few words in Farsi he jumps a fucking mile.

Bane nods and moves his arm from around John and his heart sinks as Bane sits forward. Then he notices the form sleeping on the blanket in the flickering TV light.

Bane replies in English, probably for John's benefit, his voice low and quiet. "You will take her, yes?" Barsad nods, his eyes flickering between the two of them, and then Bane stands.

John blinks up at him because sometimes he forgets just how big Bane is. Then Bane raises an eyebrow at him and John gets up too, following him the short distance to the room Bane had shown him briefly the last time he was here.

Bane closes the door behind them but doesn't engage the lock. John looks around the room. It's simple, sparse, nothing overly personal. There's an old, cheap dresser made of pressboard against one wall, there's a full-size bed in one corner with only a fitted sheet and one pillow, and there's a gigantic collection of weights. Aside from a poster of an MMA fighter John's never heard of, that's about it. He stands in the middle of the room awkwardly as Bane sits on the bed.

He's not sure what he's supposed to do now. He knows what he _wants_ to do, which is crawl over and sit on Bane's lap, but he's not sure how to get from here to there. Bane scoots over an inch and John takes the hint. He sits down next to Bane, their thighs touching and blows out a mostly steady breath. Bane's hands are on his thighs, pressing down, and John looks at his elbows. He's not sure he ever noticed them before.

They're probably normal elbows. Most are, right? He can't remember ever noticing anyone's elbows before. They're a little bit rough, and suddenly John can't stop himself from drawing a finger over the skin there. It's just one swipe of skin-to-skin contact on something as non-erogenous as an elbow, but John's mouth has too much spit and his gut is clenching, and he _wants_.

"Robin," Bane says, his voice low and John drags his eyes up to meet Bane's. They're intense, and he wants to look away, but then again, he really doesn't.

Bane's hand comes up off his thigh and reaches for John and he feels his eyelids flutter shut as those fingers finally caress his cheek and then wrap around the back of his neck. Bane pulls John forward until their foreheads are touching, and John keeps his eyes closed. He can hear the hiss of Bane's mask, feel the cool leather warming beneath his head, and he reaches out for Bane's other hand.

He can hear Bane's intake of breath as he slides their fingers together, and John knows how he feels because he wants Bane's fingers to burn him where they're touching so he'll know later exactly where Bane's been. He wants to _feel_ them, pressed into his skin so hard he'll be able to see each touch later and re-live them.

Bane untangles their fingers so he can touch John's palm, then wrist, then up his forearm. His other hand stays wrapped securely around John's neck, their breaths mingling as they both watch the progression of fingers up to the edge of John's t-shirt sleeve. John turns his hand, palm out, so Bane has better access, but Bane just strokes at the cusp of fabric, his fingernails just edging under the material. Then he skips over everything underneath John's shirt and moves to the area above his collar.

John has never wished he'd been wearing a smaller shirt until now. Maybe a tank top. Hell, maybe a crop top. But he also had a feeling that Bane would take this exactly as slow as he wanted, and John rushing him would be like trying to hurry an iceberg.

Bane traces John's neck with his blunt fingertips, then draws back so he can see them. John's eyes are shut, but he tilts his neck back in invitation. This time Bane accepts and moves to draw both hands over the skin at John's throat. It feels amazing. Of all the images in his head all day, none of them were this. And of all the images in his head all day, this one feels the most right.

Bane's fingertips touch his neck, his jaw, his ears, his cheeks. He stays still, letting Bane explore him, but finally, he opens his eyes.

"Bane," he whispers, and Bane brings his fingers to John's mouth. John can feel them, lightly touching, not pressing, not demanding, just asking. John kisses them, tender and tentative, and then does it again. When Bane seems like he's going to pull them away, John grasps his hand and holds it there.

Slowly, he kisses each of Bane's fingertips, studying them, imprinting the feel of them, the way Bane did to him. He runs his fingers down the length of them, memorizing the weight, girth, and texture. He presses them to his mouth again, and this time, the kiss is a little wetter, a little more open-mouthed, a little more filthy.

Bane sucks in a breath and John never in his life thought he'd be so turned on by licking someone's finger. He's guessing Bane hadn't really anticipated that either. He shifts on the bed, and John catches his gaze. He smiles wickedly and opens his mouth to bite Bane's index finger, pulling it into his mouth and wrapping his tongue around it.

Bane lets out a sound that John will remember forever, somewhere between a whine and a growl, and suddenly porn fantasies don't seem that ridiculous. Bane reaches for him with the hand not currently being fellated by John's mouth and yanks John even closer by his shirt.

The roughness is thrilling and John's heart is going to jackrabbit out of his chest. He's hard in his jeans, pressing against his zipper uncomfortably and he doesn't care, just wants more. Bane withdraws his hand from John's mouth and pulls him even closer, running his hands over John's shoulders and arms. He hesitates, then moves to John's torso, his wide palms sliding over John's nipples and _god_ what even is this? How is this so fucking hot?

John's breathing hard and he is desperate to touch back. He leans forward as Bane's hands slide around his ribs, so John gets to actually put his hands on the magnificent chest in front of him. The firm muscle flexes under his fingertips and he presses his nose under Bane's jaw.

"God, Bane," John breaths into his neck, a plea for he's not exactly sure what. Only Bane smells amazing, and feels amazing and _fuck_.

He presses his lips into the salty skin at Bane's throat, the heat washing over him and he should slow down, because this is too much, and what the fuck is he doing right now, except Bane is _letting_ him, and Bane _likes_ it, and he feels so-

There's a soft knock at the door and John freezes. Bane stills also, then clears his throat.

"What is it?"

Barsad's voice comes from the other side of the door, a few soft words in Farsi before Bane barks something back, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration.

"She wants you," Barsad says. "She says you need to tell her the story or she won't go to sleep." His voice annoyed and clipped.

John pulls back and Bane looks torn.

"It's okay, go. We should probably slow down anyway."

Bane's eyebrows stay furrowed, but he nods and moves away.

He pauses with his hand on the door, so John says, "I'll be here when you get back."

Bane's forehead smooths a little, and John smiles back. Then, as soon as Bane leaves, John takes a deep breath and throws himself back on the bed with the biggest grin on his face. He wants to squirm and scream with excitement because _yes, fuck yes_. He lays there for a moment contemplating the ceiling trying to get himself under control and wondering if this cacophony in his gut is permanent.

When he finally has his body under control, he slips off his worn sneakers and hauls himself back against the headboard. There's a familiar looking worn paperback on Bane's bedside table, a scrap of paper marking his place. John grabs the book and flips to a random page.

When Bane comes back in, John has been flipping through the pages, even though the book is not in English. This book is creased and worn and well-loved, but there are no notes in the margins, the pages aren't dogeared. This is something Bane has taken care of, something he cherishes and protects. It feels good to have it in his hands.

'Hey," John greets him, closing the book and setting it back where he found it. "She asleep?"

"Mmm," Bane grunts, closing the door behind him.

John slaps the bed next to him. "Come talk to me. You look like you could use a kid breather."

"Mmm," Bane grunts again, but he sits on the bed, then after a second stretches out beside John. He seems annoyed as he laces his hands together over his stomach. "She is being willful."

John chuckles. "Yeah, they do that." He waits for a second. "Are you worried about it?"

Bane looks worried, is the thing.

"I do not know," he grunts. "I am not aware of the expected reaction to the behavior of four-year-olds."

He says it like he's annoyed, and this is hardly John's area of expertise, but _man_ does he know that feeling.

"Right?! They're ridiculous! Like, how hard do I push it when they won't pick up their toys? Or won't take a bath? What's the right answer?"

Bane raised an eyebrow at him but seemed to relax a fraction. "You are asking me? You do not already know these things?"

John snorts. "Sorry to break it to you, big guy, I don't think anyone knows the right answer. We're all guessing."

Bane gets quiet after that and John lets him, for a while. When he starts to feel fidgety, he turns on his side, propping his head on his hand.

"Will you tell me something?"

Bane looks at him, wary, and says, "Possibly. It depends on what you wish to know."

John gives him a half-smile. "Well, then why don't you pick? Tell me something you want me to know."

Bane looks smaller here, more accessible. Maybe it's because John is pressed into the wall, trying to keep his hands to himself while Bane is in his literal comfort zone, but he's still looking at John like he wants to bolt.

"I feel as though you already know more than most other people."

John chuckles. "That's probably true. But I won't tell anyone. And it can be anything."

Bane is quiet for a long time, looking at the ceiling. John uses the time to study him, the way the masks wraps around his face. A part of him hopes whatever Bane chooses to tell him will shed some light on his mysterious background. The other part knows he probably won't. The mask is high-end stuff. The plastic and metal look new, even though he wears it all day, every day, and John wonders about it. He can hear Bane's breaths in the silence.

"Talia is supposed to go to school in the fall," Bane finally says, like he's making some kind of huge confession.

John stares at him. "That's it? That's what you spent twenty minutes wrestling over whether or not to tell me? That she's supposed to go to kindergarten?"

Bane turns and glares at him. "However."

John about swallows his tongue trying to suck the words back in. Oops. He presses his lips together in an effort to keep his mouth under control.

Bane sighs. "However, her appointment yesterday did not go well."

"Her appointment?" John asks. "Her caseworker appointment?"

Bane shakes his head. "I am emancipated; I became her legal guardian as soon as I was able. She has no caseworker."

"Oh." John can't help but be grudgingly impressed with Bane and his cool demeanor about the whole thing. "What kind of appointment, then?"

"Psychological," Bane says, matter-of-fact. "Talia witnessed the death of her parents and has been exhibiting some… signs for concern since then."

"Jesus," John gapes, "yeah, I bet. Poor kid."

Bane looks at him sharply. "You cannot treat her any differently now that you are aware."

John nods. "Right, no, I know that," he says, putting a hand on Bane's arm. "You don't have to worry about that with me."

Bane relaxes. "Yes, thank you, Robin. I should have realized."

John shrugs and pulls his hand back with reluctance. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."

"I am not," Bane says, his voice firm. "But it is as you say. None of us knows the right answer. We are guessing."

There's a lull in the conversation, and John senses the Talia subject is closed. He should be leaving, it's late and he has homework, but Bane's bed is comfortable, and he doesn't want it to be over just yet.

"I was kind of hoping…" John's voice trails off as Bane turns to look at him, and John feels stripped to his bones. Bane's eyes, sometimes ice-cold and hard, right now are warm and blue and can see into his soul.

Bane lifts a saucy eyebrow. "What were you hoping for, little bird?" Then his eyes crinkle and John sags a bit, huffing out a laugh as the tension breaks. His chest leans against Bane's arm and he reaches to run his fingers along the edge of Bane's mask, on the underside of his jaw. His skin is smooth and warm, and John traces down his neck before he can stop himself.

"Yeah, I might have been going a little fast. Sorry?"

He's not sorry and Bane knows it, but it's okay because Bane's eyes smile at him. Bane's wide hand comes up to cup John's jaw, his warm fingers light on his face and ear.

"I am honored," Bane says softly, and John blushes a thousand shades of red. If he could, he'd be kissing Bane right now.

"Do you ever take it off?" he blurts, and Bane's hand stills. He feels like an ass for asking, needy and greedy and demanding, but he would desperately like to see all of Bane. Even if it's not right now.

Bane's eyes speak volumes on self-assurance hard-won over insecurities, and his desire to give John what he wants. "Do you require it?" he finally says.

John shakes his head, happy to give an honest answer. "No," he says, "I would like to see you sometime, but I don't need it." He touches Bane's jaw again, touching the cool plastic where it hugs his face so tightly. "That's not actually what I was going to say. I was going to say I was hoping you'd tell me something about you."

Bane's eyes search his, and John wonders if he's pushing too hard. But, damn it, he wants to know the guy he's making out with, the guy whose bed he's lying in, the guy who takes up most of his waking thoughts and a lot of his non-waking ones too.

Bane shrugs one shoulder and withdraws his hand, turning his head to stare at the ceiling. John tries not to feel like he's being punished. "I was found on the doorstep of an orphanage."

"Orphanage kid, eh? Welcome to the club." John tries to give him a smile but knows it falls flat. "At least your parents cared enough to take you there, I guess."

Bane grunts. "Don't put them on too high of a pedestal, little bird. Where I am from, children from the orphanage were used to work the mine. It was essentially a death sentence."

John doesn't say anything for a while, just watches Bane's eyes track the cracks in the ceiling. He might have been an orphanage kid, but John has no frame of reference for what Bane had experienced. "How old were you when you went to work in the mine?"

"Old enough to remember the dark, the fear of the other children, the stench of bodies. The smallest of us were used in the gold mine to get into tight places, so I mostly remember that one. We called it The Pit."

John shudders and reaches for Bane's hand, twining their fingers together. Bane holds on tight. "How did you get here?"

Bane draws their hands up so he can see them, staring at the way John's slimmer fingers almost disappear between his bigger ones. "That is a story for another day," he rasps.

John grins despite himself. "One story per date?"

He has just enough time to wonder if he's mislabeled this thing between them before Bane nods.

"That is acceptable."

John feels the smile splitting his face, and Bane presses a thumb into his dimple.


	2. Chapter 2

He's dating Bane. He's dating _Bane_. He repeats it on his walk back because he can't quite believe it. It isn't _late_ late when John gets home, but it's dark and the neighborhood is shit, and he doesn't regret his decision to forbid Bane to walk him home, but he will probably plan better next time. Either way though, he breathes a sigh of relief when he walks through the front door.

Sharon is passed out drunk, which sours his good mood immediately since he'd _told_ her he was going to be out, and that meant the older kids had taken care of everything. He knows they can handle just one night, but goddamn it, can he just have one thing? He glares at her prone form on the couch as he grabs his stuff and heads for the bathroom.

The spray of the shower hits his chest and slides down his body and he's forcing thoughts out of his head in favor of wrapping a hand around himself and letting the memory of Bane's hands and chest and muscles take over. It doesn't take much until he's sagging against the shower wall, panting and washing everything down the drain. Bane had wound him up pretty tight. Well, most of that was his own fault. Bane seems in control most of the time, actually. Seeing Bane's eyes dilated, hearing the breath hiss out of his mask, feeling his fingers clutching— it's enough to make John feel powerful. He wonders what Bane would look like out of control.

The thought is delicious for a moment until he realizes, with a sickening flash, that he _has_ seen Bane out of control. The fist coming towards him, stopped only by Barsad, is as out of control as Bane gets. And John has no desire to see that again. But Bane with his guard down, being taken apart by John's hands and maybe his mouth? That's a different story. Just thinking about it has John hard again, and even though his shower is lasting a suspiciously long time, he fills his palm with conditioner and lets himself enjoy it this time.

The slick slide of skin against skin, combined with the roar of the water in his ears and warmth everywhere… John could take two or three of these showers a day and still feel that prickle under his skin whenever he catches sight of Bane's silhouette. And he might. Because while this definitely isn't all on John's side, it is definitely something Bane has a better handle on. John could do better than he had tonight. He could learn to control himself.

In the meantime, he fucks into his palm, reaches back with his other hand and fondles his balls, and paints the wall of the shower when he imagines Bane's hands doing it instead. This second orgasm lasts a long time, dragged out of him with bone wrenching spasms the curl his toes into the shower floor. Jesus. He looks at his softening dick.

"Yeah, I like him too, buddy, but we're gonna have to keep it together."

He shuts off the rapidly cooling water and makes a mental note to clean the shower thoroughly this weekend as he drags himself out on shaky legs. He's wiping off the mirror when he remembers. He's dating _Bane._ He grins at his reflection. Yeah, it'll be a while before that gets old.

The next day he's heading towards his usual lunch spot when he remembers that yesterday's trek to Bane's house had been for them to actually talk about his weird abhorrence to Bruce and Selina. Well, Bruce, anyway. They hadn't exactly done a lot of talking about that.

He sits at their table, watching Selina eat Bruce's food and talk about the latest gossip and remembers how Bane had asked Selina about him. And how Selina had told him. He thinks about Talia and how he hadn't even known she'd existed at first. He thinks about Bruce, too, who is expected to uphold an entire family history as large and crushing as the reputation that goes with it, who still manages to care about John, is carefully supportive of him, and genuinely wants the best for him. Of the two of them, he's surprised Bane picked Bruce as the least trustworthy.

He laughs with them, eats his food, and doesn't look in the corner of the lunchroom until he's dumping his tray and leaving. Bane is busy talking, but that's okay because _he's dating Bane._ He can't help but smile to himself as he leaves and heads for his locker.

There's a commotion at the other end of the hall, and John almost ignores it, but then there's a yelp and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

There's a tall jock pressing a skinny freshman into the locker and leering and John's feet are moving before he tells them to.

"Hey! HEY!" he yells, barreling through the growing crowd and pushing his way between them. The jock looks familiar, a senior, but John's never seen the freshman before. "Leave him alone!"

"Beat it, dick," the jock says, and John grabs the arm that holding the freshman in place and yanks as hard as he can. He breaks his hold and the skinny kid hits the floor.

The jock grabs John by the collar and slams him into the lockers instead. A collected murmur goes up from the gathering students who have come to see the show.

"What is your problem?" the jock sneers at him and John sneers right back.

"What is your problem?" John counters, grappling with the hand that's keeping him there. "That kid is half your size, asshole. What, did he steal your lunch money?"

There's a rumble from the crowd and John glances around to see Bane at the front, watching. He catches John's eye but makes no move to stop him.

"You got a smart mouth for someone so small," the jock says and shakes him, hard. John's head slams up against the locker. He sees spots and all he can think is, "This was so stupid. I really don't need another concussion." And then he kicks the jock in the balls.

The surrounding students go crazy. The jock, luckily for him, turns at the last second and catches most of the kick in the thigh. It pisses him off pretty good though, and he lands a solid left hook into the side of John's head before he can duck. Then another. And another. Just as John is about to swing back, there are two teachers coming to break up the fight.

"Alright, show's over!" their English teacher barks, grabbing John by the shoulders. The football coach grabs the jock and they have a hurried conversation in whispers as he drags him away.

Mr. Kluth, the English teacher, marches John straight to Principal Gordon's office. "What were you thinking, John?" he asks, incredulous. "Chad could have taken your head off." He points at a chair outside the office and leaves him there to go fill out incident report paperwork.

John just glares at the floor and waits for the principal to come in. He doesn't mind getting in trouble if it means the skinny freshman doesn't get beaten to a pulp, but he can't stop the image of Bane from running through his mind.

Bane had been watching. John realizes where he recognized "Chad" from— all the times he'd seen him at Bane's lunch table. But Bane had stood there calmly observing him try to beat the ever living crap out of the guy Bane had made out with the night before. Not only did Bane not do anything about it, but he'd actually been playing with a piece of string as he watched. The cat's cradle he'd taught Micah, on a red string stretched between his hands, mocking John as Bane's friend punched him in the head.

John didn't want Bane to intervene. He can handle his own shit. Except right now his head is throbbing solidly and he's going to have a hell of a migraine. And Bane knows this guy. And this guy was beating up a kid 4 years younger and 60 pounds lighter than him.

There's an explanation. John is sure of it. He just needs to make Bane explain it.

Twenty minutes later, he doesn't care what the explanation is. He's sitting through a lecture from Principal Gordon like he's never heard, and while John doesn't feel an ounce of remorse for what he'd done, Gordon's disapproval is starting to make him feel like dog shit. All of which makes him angry. He stuffs all of it down, the anger under the hurt, and tries to look contrite while Gordon blusters.

John isn't stupid. Bane's response, or rather, non-response to the fight hadn't been about _them._ If Bane didn't want people to know they were together, he could have just walked away. He didn't need to be there, front and center, looking on like he approved of these proceedings. It wasn't even about John. But John doesn't care what his reasons are because no matter how he looks at it, he feels used.

Bane is already in his chair when he gets to Humanities. John slaps a notebook on Bane's desk a little too hard and scowls for all he's worth.

"And what is this, little Robin?" Bane asks, his voice booming. Everyone is already looking at them and John fights the blush that threatens.

"It's for the essay," he glares, then flops into his seat. He's acting like a child and he couldn't give a shit less. He faces forward until the last 15 minutes, which are reserved for work with their partner and which he normally looks forward to all day. Today, he raises his hand to get a drink. Then he goes to the restroom. Then he organizes his notes. Then he takes a long time sliding his desk next to Bane's. When he finally sits back, with five minutes left of class, Bane is looking at him with his Lake Placid face and John raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Bane hums in a way that John can't interpret and gives John back his notebook.

"I see you have removed mention of "Rage Against the Machine," he says.

John's stupid mouth answers for him, even though he had every intention of ignoring Bane, and thereby ending the shortest silent treatment in existence.

"We already talked about this," he hisses. "You agreed. It's too on the nose, Bane, and it doesn't cover—"

"I see fear in you."

John gapes at him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Bane raises a calm eyebrow at him. "You are afraid to take the necessary action— to call out those that need to be called out, to make a visible change. You are so concerned with doing the _right_ thing, that you do nothing at all."

He's on his feet, his fists clenched, before he knows exactly what he's doing. He's shaking. He's confused, and hurt, but mostly he's angry. He's angry the way he doesn't let himself get. He's angry in a way that ends things.

"Fuck you." His voice is quiet, but everyone hears him anyway.

"You should fight, little Robin. You should fight harder."

"I _do_ fight, you arrogant— fuck this. Fuck this and fuck you. I'm out."

He throws the notebook at Bane's chest and spins on his heel. The teacher checks the clock, rolls her eyes but doesn't make a move to stop him. He's lucky. He's got too much to lose if she decided to do something else about it, but he can't bring himself to feel grateful right now.

The space next to John's locker is cold and gaping with no Bane to fill it. John looks anywhere else as he grabs his bag and heads to St Swithins.

* * *

Bane doesn't meet his eye the next day at lunch. When he gets to Humanities, Bane's chair is empty. The day after that, John has to stay home with Han, because he's throwing up and Sharon, who is hungover as shit, is also throwing up and saying that the kids got her sick.

He hasn't stopped thinking about Bane for two days and he's fairly sure he's going insane. Because he does something stupid.

"Hey Blake, what's up?"

"Hey Bruce," John says, leaning against the wall in the kitchen and already regretting calling him.

There's a pause while Bruce waits for him to tell him what the fuck he's calling for. "Everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah, sorry. I was just. Calling."

He can hear a squeak as Bruce leans back in the chair he's sitting in, probably in front of some computer. "Were you sick, or one of the kids?" he asks after a moment.

"Huh? Oh, Alejandro. He's still got a fever, but I'm hoping Sharon can watch him tomorrow. So."

"What's on your mind, John?"

His bluntness comes with a kind tone that says Bruce is here to help but would prefer John just come out with it.

John swallows and stares at his toes, curled into the faded linoleum and tells his brain to shut up, he's trying to talk to his friend.

"I've sorta been seeing someone?" Bruce doesn't say anything and he surges onward because that's not exactly what he wanted to talk about. "Um. We sorta got in a fight. And I'm just…" he trails off and shrugs even though Bruce can't see him.

The creak comes again. "Yeah, I heard about that."

Shit. "You did?" His gut clenches at the thought that people at school are standing around discussing him and Bane. What the hell had they been saying? John starts to sweat under the yellowed kitchen light. Probably wondering what Bane is doing with him.

But what Bruce says next throws him a little. "I didn't really think he'd be the kind of guy you'd go for, honestly."

John blinks. Because Bruce contemplating what kind of guy he'd go for is… weird. But Bruce finding Bane lacking in some way makes his hackles raise. He stuffs it down before it gets the better of his mouth. "Really? Why's that?"

"Well," Bruce pauses, maybe realizing he's about to say something negative about the person John is dating. "Chad's just kinda... abrasive."

"Wait, _Chad_?!" A wave of relief sweeps him and John sags. "I am _not_ dating Chad." He huffs a laugh.

"Oh…" Bruce says, "well—"

"Wait… did you just say that Chad is _kinda abrasive?_ The dude punched me in the head!"

"Well, I don't know!" Bruce says. "You were the one dating him! I said I thought it was weird!"

John laughs and after a second, Bruce chuckles too.

"So." Bruce is relaxed now, open. "Who _are_ you dating?"

"Well…" John hesitates. The smile is still on his face, but Bruce's words are reverberating in his head. "Now I don't really want to say."

The dead silence on the other end of the line is unsettling.

"Bruce?"

"Oh, John." Bruce sounds so disappointed, and a thread of alarm winds its way around John's heart.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're not dating Bane."

John's stomach drops and he lets his silence speak for him.

Bruce's sigh is deep and telling, and John shifts between being angry and being ashamed. Yes, Bane is stirring shit up at school. But he's also interesting, and smart, and kind of sweet, when you got him on his own. No one could look at the way he was with Talia and not understand the depth of Bane, the length to which he would go to protect the people he cared about. It was something he thought Bruce would understand.

"He's different than you think," John says, toeing a crack in the flooring. "He's not always like that."

Bruce grunted and John knew he was rolling his eyes. The anger that had been bubbling for the last couple of days, just looking for an outlet, flashed behind his eyes.

"Hey, I didn't call for your approval. This isn't, 'Let's find out if the almighty Bruce Wayne thinks I should be dating this person'. But thanks for making it about you, I really appreciate that."

"John," Bruce says with far too much patience, "he is _dangerous_. He's not a good influence."

"Fuck you. You know he says the same thing about you? God, why did I even call you?"

"Yes, John," Bruce says, his calm starting to piss John off more than his words, "why _did_ you call me?"

John hangs up.

* * *

Han's temp is down the next morning even though he still says his tummy hurts, so John sets some crackers and an empty ice cream bucket in front of him and yells through Sharon's door for her to keep an eye on him.

By the time he gets to school, his head is full of the essay. He wishes he'd kept the notebook because he's been working on it in his head between bouts of vomit and Paw Patrol. Bane's words about him not fighting have been fluttering in his stomach and he'd been thinking about music, and art, and real-world revolutions.

It wasn't about the project, obviously, although John realizes now that Bane was trying to push his buttons. He just doesn't know _why_. John fights. He feels like every day of his life is a fight— home, school, and now Bane, and even Bruce too apparently. Usually being with Bane is easy.

He needs to talk to Bane. He trudges through the day, looking forward to seeing Bane at lunch and flushes as he thinks about cussing and throwing things at Bane in front of everyone. He doesn't normally talk to Bane at lunch, but he should apologize. Probably. Or at least give Bane a chance to explain, and _then_ apologize. Or—

John comes to a dead stop in the middle of his path to Bruce and Selina's table. Because Selina isn't at their table. She's at Bane's. Technically, she's on Bane's lap. Bane is sitting backward on the bench, elbows on the table behind him, manspreading like normal, and Selina's perched her perky ass on Bane's tree trunk thigh.

Kill Bill sirens sound in John's head and he doesn't wait for them to see him. Instead, he does two things he's never done before: he dumps a tray full of food and goes to the nurse's office.

"I'm not feeling well, I need to go home."

The nurse looks at him skeptically, but takes his temperature and asks him to describe his symptoms.

"I've got this pounding in my head, and my stomach is clenching, and I feel like throwing up."

The nurse nods and doesn't comment on the way he lists his symptoms like a threat and he wants to punch something.

"Well," she says with a sigh, "you don't have a fever. What do you want to do?"

"I'm going home," John announces, standing. "You can call my foster parent, but if she answers, she'll just tell me to walk."

"I still have to do that," she says with an air of someone who's had far too many of these conversations over the years. Surprisingly, Sharon is coherent enough to answer the phone and does indeed tell the nurse to have John walk home.

Bane's perchable thighs take up most of his headspace on the way there, and he makes it in record time but he's not completely cooled off by the time he gets there. He hasn't seen Bane in two days, and when he finally sees him... ugh! He is going to drive himself insane. John shakes his head to clear the thoughts and opens the front door to Sharon, who is gathering her keys and purse to head out.

"Good, you're here. Listen, watch the littles; I'll be back. I just have to run to see Father Reilly."

"What?" John blurts. "Why?"

"Never you mind, 'why'. Because I got some stuff to take care of, that's why. Mouthy brat," she mutters to herself.

John stands in front of the door and crosses his arms. "What stuff?"

She glares at him for all she's worth. "Stuff that Father Reilly called me about, that's what. He needs me to come pick up some kid, now get outta my way."

John can feel his jaw drop. "Wait, Tay Tay? Are you talking about Tay Tay?"

Sharon rolls her eyes and makes a big show of getting the paper out of her purse. "Here, okay, Mister Nosey. Since it's so much your business, it's actually a kid named Octavius. Age three, hair brown, eyes brown, emotional needs indicate home structure would be beneficial. Okay? Is that okay with you? Are you good now? Have I catered to all your needs? Can you get out of the way now?"

"You can't bring Tay Tay here," he says with finality, not moving an inch. "He needs professional therapy. He's suffering, he screams, he wets the bed... I can't help him. I don't have time. I have a project at school that I have to do, and I've got- Look. You can't bring him here. I can't take care of him the way he needs."

"Who asked you?" Sharon squawks, not just annoyed anymore, but angry. "You don't get to say what goes on around here; I do. And I need the money. So get out of the way or I will move you out of the way."

"Sharon. He _cannot stay here_. For one thing, where's he going to sleep? I don't know if you noticed but there aren't any more beds."

"Oh my god, you are such a pain in my ass, John. He can sleep on the couch, it's not going to kill him."

"But then where are you going to pass out?"

He hears the slap before he feels it. Even for a skinny drunk, she packs a wallop. There's a tang of copper on his tongue where his teeth cut his cheek and he's had worse, of course. But she's never hit him before and he wasn't expecting it. And that slap pushes him farther than he's ever been pushed.

He wants, more than anything, to hit her back. He wants to lash out at someone, to, for once, be a child victim who cannot be blamed for their actions. He wants to take every bad thing that's happened to him, and a few that have happened to the innocent kids in his care, and put Sharon's face on them.

There's a wall inside him that stretches to the breaking point when he runs his tongue over the cut inside his cheek. He can physically feel it stretch, and he knows that if that particular barrier in his soul snaps, it will not be easy to re-erect. Maybe impossible. So, with a calm blink and a straightening of his shoulders, he does what he didn't know until that moment he'd be able to do.

He chooses not to.

He's been in more than one fight. He's taken down kids twice his size because if he didn't, they might not have stopped. Bane might not know it, but he's defended himself, and others, and lived to fight another day. Because John knows how to fight. He fights. He is a fighter.

But he looks in Sharon's face, her eyes a little wide at what she'd just done, but only for a second before settling into a look of smug self-righteousness. And instead of letting that wall inside him break, he reinforces it. And chooses not to fight.

He doesn't say anything to her. He swipes his thumb over his mouth to show her the blood she'd drawn and then grabs his backpack and lets himself out the front door. She was sorry, he could tell by the shock at the sight of the blood. Which is good. It's better that than the alternative. It means she probably wouldn't hurt the littles. But it doesn't mean he had to stay.

He hesitates for a second at the end of their sidewalk before he turns to walk to St Swithins. Father Reilly knew he didn't have room or time for Tay Tay, so John wasn't sure why he'd called Sharon. But if he could get to the bottom of it, maybe Tay Tay could stay and get the help he so obviously needs.

John had forgotten it was the middle of the day.

"John! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?" Father Reilly is in his office, surrounded by papers and an open Bible. He looks a little frazzled, but he folds his hands on top of the mess and gives John his full attention. It's a balm on an open wound.

"Ah..." John shrugs, "I wasn't feeling well, but now I'm better. I just came by because I talked to Sharon?"

He lets it be a question so Father can answer.

"Yes, Tay Tay." Father Reilly looks grim. "He's not getting better, so I thought a home type environment would be better for him. I know you said you were getting full, but if you could take him, that would really help me out."

John frowns. "What does the counselor say?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

Father Reilly sighs. "There's no budget for that, John, and you know it. I cannot give him what he needs here, he won't even let me talk to him. I've prayed for guidance, and when Sharon's name came up on the registry as an available foster, I knew that was the Lord's answer."

John grits his teeth. "Sorry, Father, but it must be a miscommunication. We're full."

Father smiles, but there's an edge of tightness around his eyes. "I already talked to Sharon. She said it was fine. I'm supposed to be meeting with her to sign the paperwork right now, so maybe we can talk about this after, hm?"

John crosses his arms and stands in front of the door to Father Reilly's office.

Father sighs. "John. I know you're feeling stretched kind of thin, but it is times like these, when we feel tested, that the Lord grants us our greatest vats of strength. I need you to reach deep, son, and think of Tay Tay. This is hard, for everyone, but we have to fight. Can you fight with me, John? Can you do that for me?"

His eyes are kind and it's not his fault he's saying exactly the wrong thing. John knows he couldn't possibly understand that the words coming out of his mouth are the ones John can't possibly stomach right now. John has let his fair share of people down, he knows this, and he'd told himself he was prepared for everyone to let him down in return. But one glance to the already completed paperwork waiting under Father's folded hands was a punch to the gut, and he knew he'd been lying to himself.

"I _am_ fighting, Father," he says, every word dripping with bitterness beyond his years. "Every day."

He turns on his heel and walks out.

The streets of Gotham are cold, and dirty, and dangerous even in the light of day. John buries his hands in his hoodie and walks faster, his shoulders pulled up to keep his ears warm. When he finally looks up, he's on the other side of town and he checks the time.

John sighs and turns because he knows where his feet have been taking him, and it's too early, but he has nowhere else to go.

Bane's front porch is small and quiet, and he feels strange hunched on the stoop when he knows Talia is next door. He waits. The sun dips lower and he stands and stretches a few times, but when Barsad and Bane round the corner, he stands to meet them.

They exchange a quick glance and by unspoken message, Barsad goes to get Talia while John follows Bane inside.

Bane says nothing, just unlocks the front door and shucks his overlarge coat, then leads the way to his bedroom. He stands aside to let John enter before closing the door behind him and gesturing for John to take a seat on the bed. John sits, and Bane stands with his arms crossed, his mask hissing more loudly than normal in the quiet room.

John should apologize, but every time he opens his mouth, all he can see is Selina's ass parked on Bane's lap and he's afraid if he tries again he'll puke all over Bane's shoes. So he sits there, jaw clenched, and stares somewhere near Bane's left hip.

"Why are you here, little bird, if you do not wish to speak to me?" Bane finally asks.

John closes his eyes. Everything he wants to say sounds petty in his head, and he knows Bane would understand, but he cannot bring himself to admit his weaknesses out loud. He's angry. He's so angry. But for some reason, for no reason, for the first time in a long time, he feels like crying.

"I..." Nothing else comes out. He swallows, grits his teeth, and swallows again, but when he meets Bane's eyes, he can feel tears welling there anyway.

Bane goes from stoic to alarmed in a flash and drops his arms. "Are you alright, Robin?" He comes to stand closer to John, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he's not sure what to do with them.

John nods, unable to look away from those eyes, the ones that say so much even though he can't see the rest of Bane's face. He swallows again. "I don't want to fight anymore."

It's a plea and a confession all at once. It's true, but it's not the only truth, because John knows, even as he says it, that he won't stop fighting— not for the kids in his care, not for the kids that will continue to come through St Swithins, not for the kid he was or for the person he wants to become. He will fight until his last breath. But here, in front of Bane, is the one time he gets to lay it all down.

"Please, Bane," he says, his voice a whisper, "I don't want to fight anymore."

Bane sits on the bed next to him, all smooth muscles moving him powerfully through the small space, and he raises a wide hand to John's face. The first touch of his finger to John's lips shakes the walls John had put up and he leans into Bane's warm mass.

"I only know how to fight," Bane whispers into John's shoulder as their arms come up around each other. "It is all I have ever known."

John holds him and lets himself be held and they breathe together for a while. He knows that where Bane is from, both in America and The Pit, have been broken, violent places where his survival, and the survival of those he cares about, depend on him never letting up. And here, in this room, in John's arms, Bane is just Bane. But it doesn't matter. John knows he's still on the offense.

He pulls back from Bane's arms and looks him in the eye. He runs his fingers over the edges of the mask, and back behind his head, where he can stroke small circles into Bane's skin with his thumbs and Bane's eyes drift halfway closed.

"I know," he says, his voice quiet. "I know that. And I understand. We both fight because we have to. The system is broken," John agrees, "and I want to fight with you to fix it. But we are different, Bane. I think we may always see things differently. Because where you come from? The things you've known? There is no fixing that system. But here..."

He angled Bane's head to look him in the eye. "Here we can make changes. You and I. We can make lasting changes, that make it better, that actually fix it. But we can't do it your way."

Bane's eyes harden and he starts to pull away, but John holds him steady. "I know we haven't talked about our final project. There's a lot we need to talk about, actually," he says, with a raised eyebrow and Bane raises one back. "But I know you've been thinking about it."

At Bane's nod, he continues. "Can you tell me honestly, that if you stacked up all your ideas side by side, is there a single one that isn't violent? Or hostile?"

Bane's silence is loud. He pulls back further, and John lets him go.

"My methods are controlled. They are the highest form of control, economical and calculated, without a single-"

"But are they going to make things better? Or are they going to make people start over?"

Bane's eyes tighten and John knows he's losing ground.

"Bane. The people that are going to be in charge of starting over are the same people who put the system in place to begin with. Making change that way isn't what you really want, not unless you can put your own people in place to rebuild. And maybe someday that's doable, but today? Now? You and me and our dumb high school project? We _can_ do something. We can use the system that we know already and make changes from within. We can make people see the broken parts. We can help fix them."

There's a protest on Bane's lips, John knows it even if he can't see them.

"I need you to help me fight," he says before Bane can stop him. His voice is quiet, and Bane blinks at him. "I can't leave those kids, the ones that are already there. They're already fighting too; I can't make them start over. I can't do it. Maybe if I didn't know them..."

He shakes his head and Bane watches him. "It doesn't matter because I do know them. And you can't tell me that you don't look at Livers, and Han, and Joey, and see Talia. I know you do. So help me. Help me fight for them."

Bane looks at him, his gaze heavy, and he nods. He draws his thumb across John's lips and John sags with relief. He kisses Bane's thumb, a brief press of lips and a silent thank you for taking him seriously. He pulls Bane closer to him, wrapping his arms around him again and lets himself be pulled into Bane's gravitational pull once more.

Just about the time John's mind starts to wander over those shoulders and that chest he's snuggled up to, there's a knock at the door.

"Bane?" comes Talia's small voice. "What are you doing?"

He pulls away from John and looks him in the eye. "We're talking, Talia."

He doesn't offer anything else, doesn't move away, and John takes it as the compliment it is.

"But Baaaaaaane..." Talia whines, "I need someone to play with!"

John smiles and Bane tracks his dimples with a swipe of his thumb. "I'll be right there," he calls to her, and John turns his cheek into Bane's hand to kiss his palm.

"Can I play too?" he asks, quietly, and Bane's eyes crinkle.

"You will no doubt have to be the Barbie again," he says, and there's no tension in his voice this time. He's laughing, and it's music.

" _Get_ to be, you mean," John corrects, and Bane laughs out loud. When he stands, John stands too.

They play and pick up, they make dinner and clean up, Barsad gives Talia a bath and puts her pajamas on, and they talk about Bane and Barsad's civics lesson for long after Talia's gone to bed. John shakes his head a lot, and they shake theirs right back, Barsad with a wry grin and Bane with that warm look in his eyes again. It's good.

He asks if he can stay on their couch that night because he's determined to make Sharon miss him before he goes back. Bane agrees, with his arms crossed, and then gets an extra blanket and pillow for him. There's a heavy silence as he makes up the couch and John brushes his teeth with his finger and some stolen toothpaste from the cabinet.

"She hit me," John offers, "I just need to cool off." Bane nods but doesn't say anything. He stands awkwardly at the foot of the couch until John pats the cushion next to him.

"You're not intruding, you know," he says with a smile and Bane sits. There's a silence and they both stare at their hands.

"I owe you an explanation," Bane says, and John holds his breath. When he finally looks up, Bane is watching him.

"That would be nice," John says because Bane seems to be waiting for him.

Bane nods, decided. "I have spoken with Chad. He is now aware of the importance of the application of power. He won't be doing that again, I can assure you; not without clear and explicit instruction."

John groans. "Do you know how crazy you sound right now? Like, what is coming out of your mouth is not normal, okay? You don't get to order guys to "apply power" when and where you want."

Bane smiles fondly at John, that look in his eyes like John is a kitten who just bleeped at him instead of pointing out a _very valid point,_ thank you very much.

"Little Robin, when will you realize that I very much can? And you could as well, should you wish."

There is a light in Bane's eyes that John doesn't recognize right away because Bane doesn't let it shine very often. It's his turn to smile fondly at Bane. Because he would never get over the thrill of being chosen. He is still dating _Bane_.

"I don't think we'll ever see eye to eye on that one either, big guy. But," he says, "that's not really an explanation. You didn't stop him. You could have, but you didn't. I need to understand... well, I'd like to understand what you want, but I will settle for what you hope to accomplish. Because I have a feeling we're going to disagree on that too."

Bane settles further back on the couch, more relaxed, and John sinks back too. They're close enough that John can feel the heat that radiates off of him, and he likes it.

"I am pushing for change in many forms," he says, the vague words doing little to hide the fact that Bane knows exactly what he's doing. He prizes control over most things, and John is sure he's got an outline, even if it's only in his head, of the changes he wants and how to get them. But Bane isn't done talking yet.

He looks, for a moment, uncomfortable. He squirms and then looks at John. "I apologize, little bird. I was not myself that morning, and I should have exerted more force."

John sits up and turns toward him more fully. "No. Okay, two things there, first of all, no. Don't exert more force. Force is not always the answer, and all your solutions... do you see how you do that? Whenever you have a problem, your resolution is to force it to bend to your will, and I don't know how well that's worked for you in the past, but at some point, there are going to be problems you can't fix that way. You should probably start working on alternative solutions now."

Bane levels a look at him. "And second?"

John blinks because he'd forgotten he'd brought up a second point at all. "Oh. Yeah, second, why were you not yourself?"

"Mmm," Bane grunts, "it is a long story."

John settles back again, this time closer to Bane. The dark, their proximity, the way Bane raises his arm a little so John can lean into him- it makes for good storytelling ambiance.

"So tell it."

Bane sighs. "Talia," he says. "She has good days and bad days. That was not a good day."

He falls silent and John nudges him. "That's not a long story."

Bane is quiet for a bit more, and John turns to look at him. His eyes are troubled as he stares back at John. "I do not know how you do it, little Robin."

His voice is so soft like he's telling John a secret, but John is just confused. "Do what?"

"You maintain control of yourself and your surroundings far better than I."

John barks a laugh, loud in their comfortable dark cocoon. "I absolutely do not! What are you talking about?"

Bane's gaze is serious and intent and John has no idea what he's talking about. He feels so out of control all the time. He has been a child that's been handed adult situations and then expected to act like an adult while still being treated like a child for most of his life. Bane probably feels the same way, except he can't imagine anyone treating Bane like a child.

"What did you do when she hit you?" Bane asks.

John can feel his face heat with shame because he remembers the overwhelming desire to hurt her back. It was the most out of control he can remember feeling since his dad died. He ducks his head and tries not to sound as contemptible as he feels.

"I... ran. I was so angry, Bane." John shakes his head and looks away. "I wanted to hit her back. I wanted it more than I've wanted a lot of things. I have never felt more _out_ of control."

"But you did not hit her."

It was a statement, not a question. But he was right. "No. I told you. I ran."

"I would have hit her," Bane says simply. "I have been working for many years on my control; Barsad will attest. But I would not, probably, have been able to restrain myself had I been there. Had I seen her strike you, I might have done far worse."

John blinked at this confession because he knew Bane's violent tendencies, but to have them admitted so openly...

"Bane," he starts, licking his lips, "I used to get hit. A lot. It was normal, easy, just a way of life. This? This was nothing. It was me mouthing off because I was angry and her being the adult and reminding me I wasn't the adult. Not," he said raising a hand to Bane's scoff, "very well, or very productively, and I'm not defending her hitting me. I'm just saying, this wasn't that. I've been in bad situations, and those kids? They were in worse. Sharon's no favorite of mine, and I want out of that place. But I won't go. The littles need her, she's better than a lot of places, and I don't think she'll do it again."

Bane raises an eyebrow. "I am not interested in revenge, little bird."

John breaths again. "Okay," he says. "Good."

"I am simply illustrating your control eclipses mine."

John presses his lips together in frustration. "But it doesn't! I feel crazy most of the time, and I— "

"But you do not act upon it," Bane interrupts. "It is different. And Talia..."

He shifts again and looks at his lap. "I fear she is imitating me and my inclinations. She is becoming more willful, and as she grows older, more manipulative as well. You have seen her in a good mood, on the occasions you've been here. She has bad ones."

John thinks about that. "You said she sees a therapist, right? How's that going?"

Bane grunts. "It is unclear. I fear the therapist may not understand the depth of Talia's... need. She is, as I said, manipulative. And on that day, with Chad, Talia was— "

He breaks off with a sigh. He shakes his head and looks away, and John puts his hand on Bane's knee.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he means it. Talia is the world to Bane. He would do anything for her. The indulgent caregiver he'd seen Bane be was more defined now, and he couldn't help but see Talia in a different light.

Bane looks at John. "There is a program I heard about, that will train you on your control. I was considering applying next year after graduation, but it is far away. Barsad and I have discussed it many times. I cannot help her as I am now, I cannot be a guide for her, I cannot help her become who she is meant to be. And that has always been paramount. However, now..."

John knows. He's always known, he supposed. Bane was going to graduate. He would go somewhere else, he would take his family with him. He would get out of Gotham because John was probably the only idiot in this city who wanted to stay. He would make a better life, somewhere far away from here.

"Will I get to see you again, after you go?" His voice sounds small and broken as he stares at his hand on Bane's knee.

"Not for a while, no. It is... an immersive program."

"You can just say the army, Bane. Will they take you, even with..."

He gestures to the mask and Bane covers John's hand with his. "Once I prove myself, they will accept me." There's a forced confidence in his voice that John doesn't comment on, and Bane twines their fingers together.

"So I guess," John swallows, "this project is all we get."

Bane says nothing, but his fingers tighten on John's.

John looks at him, meeting Bane's eyes in the dim light. "Well, let's make it kick ass, then."

Bane's eyes crinkle. "Indeed."

"I actually had an idea," he offers and Bane raises an eyebrow.

"Have you? Excellent because I have recruited a volunteer."

John scowls. "I know. I saw her ass on your lap."

Bane actually laughs, his head tilted back, and the mask doing little to muffle it. "My little Robin," he gasps when he finally stops, "were you _jealous_?"

"No," John said, fully aware he was still scowling.

Bane curled toward him. "You were." He spread his hand over John's ribs, his mask bumping John's temple.

"Mmph," John grunted at him, but his body was already responding, curving into him, his hand moving to cup the back of Bane's arm.

Bane chuckled. "My little Robin," he said again, his voice tender. "Are you certain there are no villages you need pillaged?"

John leaned his head back far enough to press a kiss into Bane's mask, directly over where his mouth would be.

"Nah," he says lightly, "I like you where you are."

Bane draws his fingertips over John's face, whispers of touches meant to memorize. "I should tell you…"

John closes his eyes as Bane's fingers sweep over his eyebrows and lids. "Tell me what?"

"About the project, when you suggested that you could sing…"

John opens his eyes, his lashes brushing Bane's fingertips. "Yeah? What about it?"

Bane holds his gaze, even if his fingers still stroke his skin, down his jaw and neck, over his ears. "I was… jealous."

John blinks at him in confusion. "Jealous? Of what?"

The puff of air from his mask seems embarrassed, but Bane still looks intense. "I want to hear you sing. But I am aware that if I were to hear you sing, I would not want to share it with anyone. I was jealous others already had this knowledge."

Bane looks surprised at John's bark of laughter. "You're crazy," John says and laughs again. "Singing is free. And it's free _ing_. It doesn't wear out. There isn't less of it if it's shared. Singing makes people happy."

Bane's fingers graze John's smiling lips. "Will you sing for me, little Robin?"

John's face hurts he's smiling so hard. "Now? Sure. Any requests?"

Bane's nod is serious. "Something no one else has heard you sing." He touches John's dimple. "Please."

He is dating _Bane_ , he reminds himself and smiles harder. "Yeah, I can do that." He keeps his voice quiet, mindful of the small house's other occupants, and weaves Bane's fingers with his.

" _And I'll use you as a warning sign.  
That if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind.  
And I'll use you as a focal point.  
So I don't lose sight of what I want._

 _And I've moved further than I thought I could.  
But I'll miss you more than I thought I would.  
Oh I'll use you as a warning sign.  
That if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind._

 _And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be  
Right in front of me._

 _Talk some sense to me."_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This is only the second installment of this three-part story arc, so please be aware this portion is not the fairytale ending. Not yet. These boys deserve all the happiness, but they're young. They've got the whole world and their whole lives in front of them.

* * *

"It is going to take time," Bane says hesitantly, but the answer isn't 'no', and John takes that as a win.

He nods. "Yeah, and research. Lots of it. I was going to ask Selina if she could do pictures for us, maybe make it a photojournalistic type of report and see if we can get it published in the paper. I can set up a website."

"A website?" Bane prompts.

"With a counter. So, let's say that we post the final project on a web page, and as soon as the person reading it hits the page, it starts a timer in the corner. It's labeled, "Kids abused in the foster care system" and let's say it's one every three minutes. We just start at one and the longer they're on there, the higher the number gets."

Bane squints at him. "Mmm. Yes. But can we do both a website and publish in the Gazette?"

John shrugs. "Website yes. I can start building it tonight. But publish? Normally I'd say we can ask the teacher but she's useless."

"Are you not friends with someone whose family owns the Gotham Gazette?"

John blinks. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I am. But he's not going to know."

Bane levels a look at him. "You can _ask_ , little bird."

John sticks his tongue out. "Fine. He'll probably be pumped to help anyway, shedding light on the shit going down in the foster care system is right up his alley."

Bane raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He passed the notebook to John and stretched. "It is late, Robin. We should rest."

John took the notebook and checked his watch. "Oh, shit, yeah. Early, you mean. It's a good start though, don't you think? I can talk to Selina tomorrow."

Bane's eyes crinkle just like John had known they would even though he tried to throw it casually into the conversation. "Are you sure you do not wish to have me speak with her?" he teases.

John sneers at Bane but he also reaches forward to place a kiss on those crinkles. "I got this one, big guy."

Bane chuckles and his mask hisses around the sound.

John backs up, looking at the hardware curiously. "It sounds different. Did something change?"

"My canister is low. I'll need to replace it in the morning. Barsad will assist me."

"Oh."

He doesn't let himself ask and he tries not to look as intrigued as he feels because it seems like something Bane would tell him if he wanted him to know.

Bane sighs. "It is a long story."

John gives him a look. "Your long stories are relatively short to tell."

"If you insist," he clips. "It is my lungs. The mask allows me to breathe and feeds me pain medication continuously. The canisters and the mask are provided by the mining company which used child labor because when they were exposed for doing so, they bought our silence with experimental, cutting-edge technology to help us breathe and reduce our pain. To my knowledge, I am the only one still alive."

John swallows. "See?" he says shakily. "Short." But he presses a kiss to the mask anyway and Bane's shoulders relax a touch.

"I will see you in the morning, little bird."

"In a few hours, you mean," he says with a smile. "So, I got a story... does that make this a date?"

Bane shakes his head ruefully, but the eye crinkles are back and John grins at him. "Goodnight, Bane."

"Goodnight, my Robin."

* * *

In the morning, he's woken by the sounds of Bane working out in his room. Apparently, Bane's impressive physique is kept in check by lots and lots of weight lifting, grunting, and sweating. Shirtless. All in all, there are worse ways to be woken up.

He stands in the doorway to Bane's room and watches as Barsad spots him for a set. The clang of the bar as Bane finally puts it down snaps John out of his ogling.

Bane runs a towel around his head, his mask silent even though John can see he's breathing hard. They must have been up for a while.

"You may use the shower first, should you desire," Bane says, and John clears his throat.

"Um, yeah, that would be," he licks his lips, "good."

He ducks out of the room before his body betrays him and it is the fastest and most satisfying shower to date. He shrugs back into his clothes in the steamy bathroom and fusses with his hair in the mirror. _Still dating Bane_ , he grins to himself.

He's still grinning as he waves goodbye to Bane and Barsad, and heads back to the duplex.

"I was just about to call the cops," Sharon complains as he comes through the front door. She's awake, but none of the kids are, which means everyone will be running late.

"Sure you were," he sighs, then ignores her as he moves through the morning routine. As he drags Sam out of bed for the one millionth time, he thinks that sometimes boring is nice. Sometimes being able to rely on Sam always burying his head under his pillow or Kat never knowing where her shoes are is comfortable, even as he's calling out the time every five minutes.

Despite the late start and the excruciating exactness of the routine, John is actually ten minutes early to school. No one said anything about him not being around last night, but he knows they were glad to see him. He tries not to think about it.

With his ten minutes, he heads to the South Gym.

"Selina!"

She turns with a raised eyebrow and gives him a slow smile as he jogs up to her.

"Johnny boy," she says, "haven't seen you around much lately."

"Yeah, well, I've seen you," he says. "I wanted to talk to you."

She crosses her arms and leans casually against the end of the bleachers. "Well, I am just all ears, my dear."

"Bane and I have figured out what we want to do for our final project. He said you wanted to help."

She nods but keeps waiting.

"How are you at taking pictures?"

"Hmm, the same way I am at everything else," she purrs, "which is to say, excellent."

"Good. We want to do a photojournalistic report of abuse in foster care homes. Got the stomach for that?"

She gives him her slow smile again. "I think I can handle whatever you can dish out."

"Okay. If you can start tomorrow, I'll get you some names and locations so you'll have an idea where we're going to be taking pictures this week and next. I really appreciate you helping; I wouldn't know where to start."

Selina's eyes flash over John's shoulder to where Bane was sitting. "Your boyfriend said he wouldn't mind an extra hand. And I thought, 'well, wouldn't you know it? I've got two.'" She grins at him widely and wiggles her fingers.

"He is, actually." His voice is hard as he says it.

She pauses mid wiggle. "He is what, doll?"

"My boyfriend."

She blinks at John with her mouth open before she snaps it shut and crosses her arms again, trying to maintain the air of someone who already knew that.

"I won't ask you not to say anything," John continues. "I don't really care, although we haven't told anyone. But you seem to more than I do about what Bane's been trying to accomplish around here. So I'll just ask that you think about whether this getting out will help or hurt Bane's mission before you decide if you're going to tell every living soul you know."

Selina looks thoughtful but doesn't say anything.

"Tomorrow," John says. "And stop sitting in his lap."

He walked away to his normal morning spot in the cafeteria. He'd told her about him and Bane for a few reasons, mostly so that he didn't have to hide anything during this upcoming treasured time he had with Bane, but also because he'd wanted to see if she already knew.

She hadn't, which meant one thing. Bruce had kept it a secret.

He calls Bruce that night.

"Blake," comes the sharp, neutral answer.

"Hey, man," John says from the kitchen, all kids tucked in bed, Sharon still not home from the bar. "How's it going?"

"As well as can be expected," Bruce says, "What's on your mind, Blake?"

John fidgets because Bruce can't see him. "I'm calling about Bane."

There's a long pause that says Bruce isn't going to walk into anything until he knows which way the wind is blowing.

"We're dating. We had a fight, but we talked, and... I just wanted you to know he and I are dating."

"I see," Bruce said, his voice still a chilly neutral.

"Is this really going to be the thing that stops us from being friends?" John asks, cutting the shit. "I need to know. I like this guy, and I'm not going to stop seeing him just because you don't like him. I'm actually sorry you don't like him. I wish you'd get to know him better. But I don't need you to like him, Bruce. I just need you to be my friend."

Bruce is quiet for a few seconds, and John can't hear a squeak or click of keys. He might, for once, have Bruce's full attention. Then Bruce sighs.

"I wouldn't expect you to stop seeing him. I just hope you understand what you're getting yourself into."

"Of course I don't, Bruce. I'm sixteen. I'm supposed to be young and dumb. This is my chance." He's half kidding and smiles as he says it.

Bruce huffs what might be a laugh into the phone. "I thought you might say that. Well, if you're ever interested, I might be able to have someone dig up some background info on him. Offers on the table if you ever need it."

"Thanks for that," John says, and he means it. "I'm not going to take you up on it, but I appreciate you looking out for me."

"Of course," Bruce says, and there's a natural pause in their conversation while John tries to decide if Bruce already has the information in front of him or if he's just saying he could get it. It doesn't matter. Anything he wants to know, he's just going to ask Bane directly.

"So," Bruce says, "Selina says she's helping you two?"

"Yeah," John says, thankful for the subject change. He talks about the project a bit, and just as he's getting to the part about possibly publishing it in the Gazette, Bruce offers.

"I could get you front page, if you want it."

"Wow, Bruce, yeah, that would be amazing. As long as there's not, like, something that obviously needs to be on the front page that day or something," John hastens to clarify. "But otherwise, yeah, that's... thanks."

Bruce hums. "I'd like to see it when you're done, if you don't mind. Also, if you need additional researchers, I'm sure I could get some of the Gazette interns to get info for you."

John hides a smile. "I think we're supposed to do that part ourselves. But thanks anyway."

"Ah, yes, I knew that," Bruce says, and John figures he's probably turned in a professionally researched paper or two.

"You know, Bruce," John starts again, "you and Bane actually have a lot in common. If you ever wanted to, I don't know, hang out with us or something…"

"I have enough friends," Bane replies, and it's not that he's wrong. Or that John is determined to be right.

Still, he points out, "You have acquaintances. You don't have friends."

Bruce grunts in reply and John lets it go.

"Anyway, Selina is coming with us tomorrow after school. You're welcome to tag along, but you don't have to. I think the project is really going to make a difference, so I appreciate your help."

Bruce says, "You're welcome," and he sounds like he means it, so they say goodbye and hang up. It's okay, John tells himself. He's going to be okay.

The project takes forever. They pull court reports, newspaper articles, and do interviews. John does interviews with all of his kids, as well as the ones from St Swithins. Bruce and Barsad contribute their own horror stories from their multiple experiences in and around Gotham. Selina takes pictures of each interviewee, and John's breath catches at the stark faces of the children in his care. Joey, in particular, with his ever present thumb in his mouth as he looks out the window, the black and white filter making his perfect skin shine- he's heartbreaking. John hopes Bane agrees for him to be the cover.

John asks for, and gets, copies of Selina's pictures for himself. He saves the digital copies in multiple places so that someday he can get prints, with frames, and hang them. Selina really is talented.

She also has a picture of Barsad, and one of Bane. John's looks just like himself, so it's nothing amazing, but Bane's...

Bane's is phenomenal. His mask is front and center, not attempting to hide it. And those eyes that can say so much might as well be shouting at the viewer. They are intense, and mesmerizing, and god, so hot.

He's not upset he's got that picture saved also.

Barsad's picture is interesting to John, mostly because he looks handsome, and John hadn't really ever thought of him that way, and because Selina took the picture of him sitting down, and still managed to catch his "constantly in motion" feel. He's never looked relaxed unless he wants you to think he is, and even then, he looks vigilant. That is exactly how he looks in the picture. Like he's scanning you, knows every thought you've ever had, and will absolutely be using it against you in the near future.

He reads over Barsad's reports and shudders. None of them had it easy, but Barsad's is tragic. His were adoptions gone wrong, one after another, until he was old enough to be undesirable as an adoptee and started bouncing between fosters. So much death, so much pain.

John starts a new tradition of reading to all the kids at night, even to the girls who roll their eyes but still pile on the couch before bed, listening to the story, and soaking in the nearness of people who care about them. As he tucks them in, John starts telling the kids stories about each of them, ones they already know but listen to with rapt attention. He tells them what he saw the first time he looked at them. He tells them about the reports he gets from their teachers and how proud he is. He tells them about things they are good at, and jobs they could have where that would be useful. The older kids scoff and smile, the younger kids stare in wonder. He hugs them as many times as he can. He can't tell if it's for him or for them.

Meanwhile, Bane starts coming into school with bags under his eyes.

"You alright?" John asks, genuinely concerned.

"Mmm," Bane grunts, "Talia." It's all he'll say on the subject for several days. When John finally gets him to talk more, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Mrs. Baldwin doesn't feel she is capable of handling Talia's outbursts," he says. They're in Bane's room, the door cracked with their project spread over the bed between them. Barsad is playing with Talia in the living room, and they can hear him being directed on what to do and what to say and where to place each toy.

They keep their voices low, both so Bane can keep an ear out if he's needed, and so Talia doesn't know they're discussing her.

"Have you explained what's going on to her therapist?"

There's a flash of irritation in Bane's eyes, but then he just looks tired. "The therapist has decided that I am the one who requires therapy and that Talia is only reacting to her unstable environment."

John can hear the pain caused by that statement, and he lays a hand on Bane's forearm. "What are you going to do?"

Bane is looking at John's hand. "I am going to locate a new caregiver, preferably one who will take Talia before I am expected to be in school. I am going to stop frequenting the therapist who is incomprehensibly useless. I am going to organize a senior walkout next week. I am going to work on this project. And I'm going to spend time with you."

Bane's eyes sear John when they land on him and he swallows. His fingers involuntarily tighten on Bane's arm and if Selina's prints hadn't been spread out between them, he's have crawled into Bane's lap, open door be damned.

"Yeah?" he says, his voice thick. And shit, they don't usually fall down this hole because they only have so much time to finish the project before the end of the year and the times he has available to come work on it are limited. The unfortunate truth is that they need this time or they won't be done by the time Bane is supposed to graduate.

John has traded evenings at St Swithins with evenings with Bane, Barsad and Talia. The project takes a backseat to Talia's care though, so they get together on her good days and work. John has been so good. He has kept his hands to himself, and he has kept his mind (mostly) out of the gutter even as he has looked at Bane's handsome and weary face and ached to comfort him.

Now, though, that face is inches from his own, and there's a storm in his eyes, and John stacks the photos and tosses them to the floor. He stands and Bane stands also, confusion and concern in his eyebrows, but John just leans past him to push the door shut and engage the thumb lock on the doorknob in the same move. He turns to Bane and pushes at him until he sits on the bed again, then puts one knee on either side of him. Bane leans back against the wall and raises an eyebrow. John's legs stretch to fit on either side of Bane, his ass sitting snugly on Bane's thighs. It's a good spot. It might be his favorite spot.

"Can I touch you?" he says and looks at Bane. His pupils are blown wide and he's cupping John's hips in his hands and John wants him so much he's aching. But this is also not something he's done before, with anyone. And he doesn't want to fuck it up.

Bane nods, and John doesn't know what he wants to touch first. Finally, he spreads his hands over Bane's tight stomach, feeling the muscles bunch under his t-shirt. He pushes them upward, over Bane's ribs, his pecs, his nipples hard and causing a sharp intake of breath. John freezes and then looks at Bane's face. And then he does it again. This time there's a slow breath out, measured and controlled, but Bane arches up into the touch and John grins at him.

He strokes over Bane's shoulders, his fingers digging into those gorgeous traps just for a second before sliding over his biceps and holding on.

"God, you're gorgeous," John says in a rush watching his fingers trying to reach around those arms. Bane doesn't say anything, but when he puts his hand on John's stomach, it's slow, with reverence.

"Can I touch you?" Bane says and John wants to sink into the low, gravely growl that comes out of that mask. His eyes close and his hips cant just a touch before he can stop them. He forces his eyes open again.

"Yes," he breathes, "please."

Bane's hands don't take as long to skim over his torso, and John tries not to rock his hips back into the growing need pressing into his ass.

Bane's fingers slip under the edge of John's shirt and his fingers are cold at first. That's okay though. The temperature difference in their skin as Bane's fingers explore under cover of cotton is something he will remember forever.

"Want me to take it off?" he asks. Bane nods and he lifts it over his head and lets it drop on the floor.

Bane's eyes are locked on his chest and he touches John like it's a gift to be able to do so. John feels almost silly because it's just him, his skinny body the same one he feeds and clothes and makes it get him through the day. It's not like Bane's body. Bane's body is a work of art. He's devoted time and energy and worked on it. It's worthy of worship.

He tugs on the hem of Bane's shirt, bringing Bane's attention away from running his hands over John's skin. Bane blinks, then curls up to pull his shirt off absentmindedly, tossing the shirt and reaching for John again.

This time when they touch, John can't stop the roll of his hips. He's holding his breath, and he knows Bane is too because he can't hear the mask.

"Is this okay?" he says, forcing himself to breathe again. Bane nods again, quickly, his hands still roving over John's chest,. John thumbs Bane's nipples, teasing the hard buds, and he can feel Bane copying his movements. It feels so good, John almost misses the fact that Bane is doing only what John does to him— nothing more.

John freezes and Bane does too, and John appreciates Bane's restraint so much he has to blink fast a few times to make sure he doesn't do something embarrassing. He licks his lips.

Bane's eyes snap to John's mouth and he draws in a deep breath. John grins and lowers himself inch by inch until their chests are touching, his smaller frame resting on top of Bane and his hands bracing himself up. He looks into Bane's eyes and smiles again, then rocks his hips, slow and deliberate.

Bane's eyelids give the barest flutter but his mask has stopped making noise again, so John stops. He leans down to press a kiss into Bane's jaw, just below where the mask ends.

"Breathe," he whispers, "okay? And tell me if you want me to stop. I promise I will."

"And if I don't want you to?"

Bane's rumble doesn't sound shy or timid. Bane sounds like he wants to flip John over. John gets even harder at the thought, even though he didn't think that was possible. He shifts, trying to relieve the pressure in his jeans, and Bane shifts at the same time. The friction makes John go cross-eyed and thrust forward without thinking. The tiny noise that Bane makes causes John to bite his lip to keep the moan he's holding back from tearing out of him. Bane's watching John's mouth, and then he's gripping John's hips, hard, pulling him closer, and squeezing his eyes shut. John watches him, fascinated to see him come undone, and so god damned turned on he's going to come in his pants.

Bane doesn't move for a second, just lays back with his eyes closed and breathes, his hands like iron grips at the top of John's thighs. John presses slow, light kisses over Bane's neck and shoulders.

Then he finds Bane's collar bone, so straight and smooth, then the little dip of his throat, and the way his tongue flutters perfectly into it. Then his sternum, smooth and hairless as the rest of Bane, and before John can question what he's doing, he's kissing Bane's nipple. He rubs his lips across it, slowly learning the feel and Bane is running his hands up the backs of John's thighs. He palms John's ass and it feels fantastic, so John flicks his tongue over the hard nub and Bane nearly comes off the bed.

He doesn't make a sound, but John can figure out a pleasure marker when he sees one. As inexperienced as he feels right now, it's not that difficult to know what Bane likes. Bane's hips press up, up, into John's space, that impossibly large bulge pressing against him. John shifts again, lining their erections up, feeling amazing even through the layers between them. He catches Bane's eye.

"This okay? Just this?"

It's asking his permission and his boundaries, but John wonders if he's doing a good enough job telling Bane, "Hey, this is _my_ boundary. In case you were wondering."

"Yes, little bird," Bane says, and John smiles because Bane is answering and listening at the same time, and he doesn't know how Bane knows that anything more would be too much, but he's damn grateful.

He rocks his hips, tiny movements at first, and then longer thrusts as he gets more confident. All the while, Bane's hands on his ass, pulling him close, grabbing a handful, sliding up his back and then down again.

He starts to move faster, and shit, he hadn't really planned on this, but he's so turned on, and it's been a long time since his morning shower, and he's dating _Bane_.

"Bane," John says, a prayer, a pleading, a confession.

"My Robin," he replies.

Bane surges up into John's hips again and again and his eyes close as small sounds reverberate from behind the mask. John has to put his head down, burying his face in Bane's neck.

Their chests press together, a sheen of sweat as they grind against each other, getting faster and faster.

"Bane," he pants, so close, so close... "Fuck, I'm gonna— "

Bane is the one whose stomach tightens and a warm spurt John can feel through his own jeans forms between them.

"Oh, Jesus," John breathes because _he just made Bane lose it_ , and the slide of his dick against that wet spot underneath him is more than enough to have him cumming too.

He makes noise, he's sure of it, but he has never shot so hard and he has no control. Bane's fingers find his lips and he sucks the first two into his mouth, tonguing and sucking them as he rides out his orgasm against Bane's thick body. Bane rumbles a curse and ruts back, the denim too thick, but the pressure just right.

When he finally lets Bane's fingers fall from his mouth, he pulls back enough to see Bane's face. He should probably feel embarrassed about getting off without even taking his jeans off, but Bane's eyes are so full of wonder that he can't do anything except collapse back into the safety of Bane's arms. He rests there, on Bane's chest, Bane's hands claiming every inch of John's skin he can reach as they wait to catch their breath. His bones have melted, he will never stand again, and they're never going to get any work done in this room after this, but he wants to remember this feeling, this giddy thrill.

It's a pocket of stolen time. John breathes into Bane's skin with his eyes closed, trying to make it last because Bane is his first, and he will never forget this, but what he wants to remember most is the way he feels so extremely lucky to have snatched this moment from the jaws of the universe. It's his. Bane is his. And he is Bane's.

The stillness in the room after their frantic movements lends to his unwillingness to move, and he mutters into Bane's chest, "I don't want you to go."

He hadn't meant to say it. He hopes, for one fruitless second that Bane didn't hear him, but Bane's hands still and he sighs.

"I know you have to," John hurries to say, tightening his arms around Bane so he doesn't try to dislodge him. "I just..." he trails off and shrugs. Then, his voice low, he sings, " _I'm gonna miss you more than I thought I would_ ," and Bane's fingers resume their slow stroke.

"Mmm," Bane hums, and John, who has gotten to know his grunts and non-verbal cues so well, doesn't know what that one means.

He doesn't get a chance to find out. The doorknob rattles and a small voice says, "Bane?"

John buries his flaming face in Bane's chest.

"THE DOOR IS LOCKED!" Talia yells from the other side.

"Yes, it is," Bane calls back smiling as John sits up. John looks at the mess they made with a smug sense of pride.

"UNLOCK IT, BANE! I DON'T LIKE IT LOCKED!"

"Okay, _habibi_ ," Bane says, "one second— "

"UNLOCK IT! UNLOCK IT, UNLOCK IT, UNLOCK IT!"

Bane's entire frame tenses and he sits up, spilling John to the side and reaching for his shirt at the same time.

"Yes, Talia, I— "

But even though his hand is on the knob, he's too late. Talia starts screaming, words at first, then just a loud, brash sound that almost drowns out the sound of her feet stamping on the floor and her little fists beating into the wood.

Bane's yanking the door open, even though he's still pulling on his shirt and John is still trying to find his, his face flaming as he spies Barsad on the other side. But neither he nor Bane is paying him any mind. They are both focused on the girl in front of them who is, apparently, only getting started.

She is turning red, but as soon as the door opened, she started clawing her face, red streaks quickly turning into scratches, and the scratches turning bloody as her short nails rake over and over the skin. Bane is speaking calmly, trying to hold her arms loosely and failing to keep her from harming herself.

She explodes, reaching for Bane's face and clawing at his mask, still screaming. Bane, faster than John could track, spins her so her back is to Bane's chest, with her arms crossed in front of her and locked in one of Bane's huge fists.

"No, Talia."

There's no wiggle room in his voice. He talks to her, making soothing noises and murmuring reason into her ear, but she's still screaming every drop of oxygen from her lungs, bowing over before rearing back to fill them again.

John finds his shirt and pulls it on again, and he shoves their papers into a hasty stack. He eases around the pair huddled in the doorway, and Barsad is on the phone, speaking urgently into the mouthpiece with a finger in one ear.

John sneaks out the front door, quiet as a shadow, and grimaces as he ties his jacket around his waist. He tells himself Bane doesn't need to deal with him too. He can get out of the way. He worries for the tiny family he's leaving on their own, though.

It's an uncomfortable walk home, but when he gets there, everyone is excited to see him. They crowd around him to tell him about their day and he has to fend them off to get a change of clothes and head to the bathroom amid shouts of "Why do you gotta change your jeans? Why do you need underwear too? DID YOU HAVE A ACCIDENT?!"

"Hey, Sam," he says once he's put back together and everyone has calmed down, "can I talk to you for a second?"

Sam nods, excited for the opportunity to pack up his reading homework early.

"You went to St Swithins yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, 'course," he says, confused.

"How's Tay Tay doing?"

Sam slumps a little. "About the same. Some days are good, but Rosie says he still cries at night."

John worries his lip. "And the therapist? Is she back?"

Sam shakes his head slowly and John grits his teeth. "Okay, thanks, bud."

This project has to work. It _has_ to. He recommits himself to checking in at St Swithins more often and spends the rest of the night working. When he wakes up, it's with the same notebook he's shoved onto Bane's floor making creases on his face.

* * *

The year is winding down. The project is exhausting, mentally and physically, and he and Bane work together as much as possible, but they split up tasks as they start to run out of time. John interviews kids currently in the system and Bane reviews fosters under current scrutiny and Selina takes picture after picture of kids in need. Each night John reminds himself that _his_ kids are safe, and that he's doing what he can. Then he sorts through reports and pictures of kids who still need someone to save them.

Bane doesn't feel this way. John knows it, and he even understands it a little because Talia is the one in front of him, and she's not okay.

"Another bad night?" he murmurs under the cover of noisy cafeteria. He still eats lunch with Bruce and Selina, but he worries about it less now. Mostly because at least twice a week he drops off the write-ups of the interviews he did and picks up the portions Bane needs him to type up into the report. Bane's flock moves aside now without a ripple and John slides next to him so they can steal minutes to work on the project together.

Bane's eyes are sharp in warning, but John isn't deterred. Bane looks tired. John knows he's getting called away from school more, both by the center he found for Talia and by her new therapist, and there have been several times where they've had to cancel getting together to work on the project because Talia needs it. But it's not as bad as the times when John has shown up to their house since.

Talia's breakdown had ended with Bane and Barsad having to sedate her. She was attempting to get the kitchen knives when Barsad finally got a good grip on her and Bane gave her the injection. He told John about it reluctantly the next day and John apologized for not being there to help.

"I would not have accepted it, little bird," Bane said matter-of-factly, and John let it drop.

Now, though, Bane is trying to intimidate John into letting it drop and John is blinking at him as if he has no idea what Bane is trying to do.

Bane sighs. "There have been worse," he admits and John lets their knees touch under the table.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you responsible?" Bane asks. "Then there is no need."

"I know you're worried," John says softly. "But this isn't your fault either. I've seen you with her. You're doing the best you can."

Bane grunts and just like that the conversation is over. John stands, accepting the stack of documents that he gets to parse through and cut down on Bane's rambling.

"I'll update the report tonight," John promises and Bane nods in acknowledgement and dismissal.

The times that John has tried to come over since that night have been bad. Bane believes Talia has somehow linked John's presence with whatever trauma she was reliving that night and seeing him makes her regress. John thinks she just doesn't like to share Bane and she's pulling the ultimate weapon in her arsenal to make him choose between them. He and Bane had fought about it, actually, but if that was Talia's motivation, she won. Without a second thought, Bane declared he would see John at school the next day and hopefully walk him home. Then he'd shut the door to deal with a screaming Talia.

So great was the hold Talia had on Bane that John worried how she would react when Bane joined the army, but Bane didn't appear worried. "She will always have a place by my side," he'd said, "and I at hers."

John had raised an eyebrow but he wasn't about to shove his foot into his mouth when it came to Talia.

Selina has been extremely helpful as a go-between for he and Bane, but also as having contacts and information in places he hadn't considered.

"Bruce will have some good ideas about charity drives and setting up a collection when you're ready to go live," she says as if Bruce isn't sitting right there. Of course, he's not listening, so it's about the same thing. He's got his brooding face on. "And if we're lucky, we can get some sponsors to host a gala or fundraiser dinner to draw the big money folks." Then she steals one of Bruce's carrots with a cheeky grin.

"It won't matter," Bruce says as if coming out of a daze. "The Gazette won't run the story."

John freezes, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth and Selina turns to Bruce with a glare. "Why not?" she demands before John can.

"The editor-in-chief at the Gazette isn't going to run a sob story about how foster kids are fucked and there's no hope for them. You're going to need to redo your project."

He says it casually, like it's so easy to throw away the months worth of work he, Bane, and Selina have devoted to the research for this project.

"Are you insane?" John squawks, a little too loud and a few heads swivel in his direction for a beat. "Do you know how long we've worked on this?" he hisses a little quieter. "We can't just— those kids _need_ someone. The system _is_ fucked, that's why we're—whose side are you on, anyway?!"

Bruce looks at him with an air of calm John doesn't feel. "The editor-in-chief is not going to run an article that insinuates that no one from the current foster system has amounted to anything. Want to hazard a guess as to why?"

John just stares at him, his hands in fists under the table.

"Because she was a foster kid."

It shouldn't be surprising. But it is a good point.

"Okayyyy," Selina says, thinking out loud. "We can do a compilation video for the gala of successful Gotham citizens who were raised in the system and a tagline of "I am Gotham." If we are supporting our own, raising them up, it's inspiring instead of depressing. Right?"

"I want the focus to be on the kids _now_ ," John urges. "There is an immediate need. You guys have to understand that. It's not going to be enough to pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. The job isn't done. It'll never be done."

Bruce nods. "But you're going to need an additional angle if you want to get it in the Gazette. Think about it."

"It's more research," John warns, "and we're running out of time."

"I may be able to help you there."

Bruce slides a notebook across the table. "Here's the ones I could find that still own their businesses. I don't know how successful you were thinking, so I organized them by revenue at the end of the last quarter."

John isn't looking at the notebook. He's staring at Bruce.

"You... you didn't have to do that."

Bruce just blinks at him. "I know," is all he says.

John flips through the pages blindly, not really reading until he comes to one of the last pages. "Hey." He turns the notebook around. "What's this?"

Principal Gordon's face fills the page. Bruce shrugs. "Successful and recognizable. Doesn't own a business so I put him in a separate section. But there's an education-"

"No, you dipshit. I mean I didn't know he was a foster kid."

"He was adopted," Bruce says. "I don't know that it's defining for him, but it's true. I looked it up."

"Huh," John says, flipping through the folder more closely. "This is actually kind of nice to see," he admits.

There's a short pause and then, "I thought so too," Bruce says taking a drink. And John is slapped in the face, again, with how Bruce could have ended up next to him at St Swithins if things had been just a little different.

"Maybe... the rich people aren't the only ones who need to see this, then," John suggests, and Bruce gives him a raised eyebrow and a smug look of approval. John rolls his eyes.

So it's decided. Bruce and Selina change tracks and work the "inspirational" angle of the story, and John and Bane will try to finish the remaining stories that need telling on the other side. They've got two weeks left before the project is due, but Bruce wants to get going on the fundraiser aspect as soon as possible so it can be ready when the rest of the information is. John agrees.

"I'll just go tell Bane," he says, the little thrill in his stomach tempered by the annoyed flash in Bruce's eyes, but he can't bring himself to care much.

He makes the short trek to Bane's table and Barsad sees him coming.

"Hey, big guy," he says quietly once he's seated. He places the notebook on the table, but Bane doesn't look at it. "I've got to tell you something," he says, cautious now that Bane hasn't acknowledged him.

"I must tell you something as well," Bane says, his voice a rumble.

"Oh," John says, and the room is slightly stuffy, and he seems to have forgotten how to breathe for a moment. "Okay." He can't hear his own voice over the conversations around him.

Bane spins and climbs off the lunch table bench, stalking away. He swirls his giant coat around himself, and John just stares after him, unsure what is going on, until Bane turns and looks at him, an expectant eyebrow raised.

Oh. John rises, grabs his coat and follows him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to keep his stupid ears from heating up and ignoring whether anyone else is watching them.

They head to the courtyard, Bane indicating to the group at the tables to take a hike, and then they're in the corner, Bane blocking the wind again. There's a heady sense of deja vu that John ignores because the look in Bane's eyes isn't flirtatious or adventurous. It's... tortured.

"Bane?" he asks, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't answer, just looks at John for a long moment. His eyes scan John's face, like he's memorizing him, but John isn't alarmed until Bane reaches forward and takes John's hand.

A thread of panic winds through John.

"Bane? What the hell?"

He tightens his fingers on Bane's though, in case Bane thought he didn't want his hand there. As if he could have stopped Bane from pulling away. Bane stares at their fingers.

"I must go," he mumbles so low John isn't sure he heard him correctly.

John pauses, because Bane doesn't waste words, so he shouldn't either. Bane means go, as in, leaving, as in...

"When?"

It is not a question John wants to be answered. He wants to know, but whatever the answer, it won't be satisfactory.

And indeed, it isn't. "Soon."

John feels annoyance and anger flare up, and he clings to it like a lifeline so he doesn't start crying in front of Bane in the school courtyard.

"Well, that's super informative, thanks for bringing me out into the cold to give me that little nugget of information." But his fingers are holding onto Bane's hand so hard it hurts and his voice wavers on the last word despite the anger he tries to force into it.

Bane's fingers don't let go either. "Before the project is to be completed," he clarifies, and John wants to sink to the ground.

"No," he whispers. "No," he tries again, stronger this time. "You've worked too hard on this. Can't you stay for just two more weeks? Bruce had an idea, and it's good, and I think we could— "

But Bane is shaking his head and John's heart isn't working properly and his eyes are getting blurry and he might be having an aneurysm because this isn't how his body should react to a bad situation. His body should be fight or flight, not curl up and die. His body is failing him because all he can do is grab to collar of Bane's coat.

"Bane," he says again, but he doesn't know what to say after that, and he couldn't say it anyway because his throat hurts and it hurts to breathe and everything hurts.

Bane tilts his forehead against John's. "Talia is in need, and I cannot help her," he says. "I need to start the program now. There will be help for her as well, if I can only get her there. It is necessary."

John wants to tell him it isn't. He wants to tell him that there's healthcare and programs to help pay for it and the right answer is available in Gotham, and he doesn't have to leave. But John knows it isn't true, even if he wanted it to be, and he's heard stories about military families having access to better doctors. He couldn't, wouldn't ask Bane to consider anything else, but, Christ, why does it have to ache so much?

"Will I..." He swallows. He can't look at Bane as he says, "Will I get to see you again before you go?"

Bane tilts his head up and John has to squeeze his eyes shut before he can look him in the eye. Bane's eyes are a storm, but he nods. "Tonight."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" John asks, shocked. "So soon?"

"I cannot delay. I should have left already. I have been… weak."

He drags his thumb over John's lips and John closes his eyes but cannot stop the slide of tears. This cannot be happening. Not now. He isn't ready. He shivers.

Bane pulls him into an embrace, and John tucks his arms around Bane, under his coat, being enveloped by Bane and bundled in his warmth and scent. He holds on as tight as he can and Bane hugs him back, almost too tight, and it's not hard enough. John wants Bane to compress him so hard he leaves marks. Maybe he could break a rib so it would hurt less.

"You're not weak," John mumbles into Bane's chest. "You're the strongest person I know."

"HEY!" comes a yell from behind Bane as Principal Gordon comes into the courtyard, but they ignore him.

"As are you, little bird," Bane replies, and John hiccups a sob into Bane's black henley. It's the same one he was wearing on the first day of school, and the bookend doesn't escape John.

"I already talked to you two about—"

But John just removes his arms from inside Bane's coat and wraps them around him again, this time on the outside. This time where Principal Gordon can see them.

"— fighting."

Principal Gordon halts his advance and Bane keeps his back to the older man. John clings to him and stays where he is, wrapped in Bane's arms, his head tucked firmly under Bane's chin.

"Ah… I'll just." Principal Gordon clears his throat and despite his misery, John's mouth twitches at the older man's obvious discomfort. "Keep, uh, keep it clean, boys," he says before scuttling back into the building and John can feel Bane's amusement in the shake of his shoulders.

He pulls back from John, and with reluctance, John lets him.

Bane's thumb swipes the traces of tears from his cheeks and John blows out a shaky breath.

"Fuck," he breathes, "this hurts."

"Fight, my Robin," Bane says, his voice soft and fond. "Keep fighting."

John nods. "Will I get to see you? Will you have, like, leave or something?"

His fingers touch John's mouth again. "No," he says and John waits for more, but he doesn't say anything else. He kisses Bane's fingertips.

"Will you write me?"

Bane tips his head up to meet his eyes again. "Every day," he says, and John has never heard Bane make a promise, but he believes this one.

John shudders and closes his eyes. "Okay," he says, and Bane tips their heads together. The bell rings for the end of class, and they pull apart. Bane presses his fingers to John's mouth again, and John kisses them.

"Tonight," he promises, and Bane nods.

They drop their clasped hands as they get back into the building, an unspoken agreement to let this tiny thing between them be theirs and theirs alone. To let it flit cautiously in John's heart as Bane tells Ms. Bishop that he and his partner are doing research for their project off campus and her agree for them to leave early. To have it beat its wings against the walls of its cage as they walk to Bane's house, hand-in-hand. To watch it swell and sing as Bane leads John to his room and lock the door. To have it take flight.

* * *

"Do you have your note cards, Johnny boy?"

Selina's bright red smile looks lovely in the golden lighting of the hotel, and she seems perfectly in her element despite her youth and her elegant dress. Actually, maybe it is because of her youth and her elegant dress.

"Yeah, I've got them," he says, lifting them to show her. They're curved where he's been grasping them, but they're all in order and numbered in case he drops them. He's been practicing, but he's sweating into his rented suit. Selina tucks a strand of hair behind his ear.

"You're up after Principal Gordon introduces you. You gonna be alright?"

John nods, but he can feel his stomach jumping everywhere. "Have you checked on the kids?"

"They're fine," Bruce says, "you're the one who looks like he's going to puke."

John glares to keep from actually puking, but Bruce and Selina just raise identical eyebrows again. Finally, he sighs and rubs his palms on his slacks, one at a time. "I'll be okay. I know what I'm going to say. I just hate waiting. I want to just do it already."

Selina rubs his arm. "PowerPoint is cued up, just use the clicker on the podium. And talk slow," she reminds him for the thousandth time.

John just nods and then Principal Gordon is speaking and oh god, it's his turn to stand and walk on jelly knees to the front. He can hear people clapping but he can't really hear people clapping and then he's standing under a light so bright he can only see the first few tables and that's okay, and he sees Selina's bright red mouth at one of them and that's okay too. He takes a deep breath. He holds the sides of the podium.

He knows what the first slide looks like because he's practiced this too many times. It's one of Selina's beautiful, stark photos. It's black and white, it's perfectly lit, and it's a closeup of Livers as she brushes a doll's hair. She isn't looking at the camera. She's playing. She's happily babbling to John, just off camera, about how the girl is going to be a teacher, or maybe an astronaut, or maybe a princess when they play.

John thinks about that familiar face and feels better. He takes another deep breath.

He knows his first lines. "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for coming tonight to hear our story. My story. Oliva's story. So many stories, and all of them a part of who we are in Gotham."

It's a good speech. It's a good report. And tomorrow, when he turns in the project to Ms. Bishop with a copy of the Gotham Gazette running a front-page article about tonight's gala, it'll be a good grade.

They've had a positive response from the groups they've approached as sponsors, Selina bringing names and numbers and suggestions for ways to convince random members of the community, and Bruce smooth talking his way into their offices so John can pull out pictures and tell the sob story. And then show the successes. Express need. Give hope.

It's going to change lives, he tells himself. It's going to change the way the system works. For kids like Tay Tay, it could mean the difference between a happy childhood and a series of traumatic memories you spend a lifetime trying to drown out.

Tay Tay is getting adopted. The high-end psychiatrist to the wealthy they interviewed asked John more questions about the children in John's care than he answered. He himself had grown up in the system and he knew more stories than he could share, of course. But he went to St Swithins to meet with Tay Tay that night. And now, soon, Tay Tay will be going home.

In John's pocket is the letter he'd gotten from Bane. It's already well worn and he's worried he'll ruin it he's read it so many times, but tonight is special. He knows it by heart, of course, but he imagines he can feel it against his leg, a tangible reminder that Bane had been here and had been his.

He stands in front of his town and pastes on a smile and prepares to talk about how he and "some friends from school" took a school project and decided to make a lasting change. Because this is what he wanted. It's all he's ever wanted, actually: to make Gotham a better place. Bane had done this. Bane had made it possible. John had stepped outside of his comfort zone and built something. He is starting a wheel rolling that will pull him and the kids in his care out of the pit they'd been in, and so many other kids besides.

When Bane comes back, Gotham will be different. And it will be because the people here pulled together when they were faced with need and lifted each other up. John won't just watch it happen. He will fight. And he will make it happen.

He presses the clicker.

* * *

 _My Robin,_

 _The letters I have written you every day, most in my head but some on paper, cannot be sent, and for that I am sorry. But I am not sorry to have known you, for you have shaped my world. I will not be writing for a while because I am attempting to be enough. For Talia, for this program, for you. Once I have achieved this goal, you will hear from me again._

 _You should know that you are my light at the end of the tunnel. You are my blue flower. You are my focal point, so I don't lose sight of what I want._

 _I hope it will not be long, little bird. Until then, keep fighting._

 _Bane_

* * *

A/N: Thank you _so much_ for reading! The third and final story in this series will tie in canon, but it isn't done yet, and the posting date is TBD with NaNoWriMo looming. So, you can set an author alert if you're interested in getting an email when the last part is ready!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope you enjoyed!


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